Is It Bad? (aka F the Pain Away Reprise)
by Divineress
Summary: Pam and Tara are experiencing a lot of pain while being detained as prisoners in the hell that is LAVTF Vamp Camp. Fortunately, they both discover something they can do to make all that pain go away.
1. Table of Contents and Background

**Is It Bad? (aka "F the Pain Away Reprise")**

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** Author's Notes: **

(1) I've been watching this season of True Blood, and hoping for more Pam and Tara each episode. I'm not unhappy with the other story lines, and I am still hopeful for Pam and Tara's development with just four episodes left. But maybe I am an eternal optimist.

Like many fans, I had high hopes for some interaction that advanced Pam and Tara's romance in Episode 5, _Fuck the Pain Away_. Oh, okay. I'll go ahead and admit it. The truth is I wouldn't have minded if Episode 5 had involved more than just romantic advancement. I didn't need fucking _per se_ (although I would have watched and gasped like everyone else). I just wanted … anything related to Pam and Tara's relationship. But alas, unless I missed something, it seems like the Episode 5 title was about Sarah Newlin and Jason Stackhouse.

If you want to experience something that wasn't written by the show's writers for your favorite ship, well that's what fan fiction is for, I guess. I was so underwhelmed after Episodes 5 and 6 (where Pam and Tara are concerned, that is), that I started jotting down this little story of my own. I did love Pam in therapy, which is where this idea started.

I decided to take a week's break from my grand opus, _Epic Love Story: A Pam and Tara Novel_, and write _Is It Bad?_ This story is my do-over of _Fuck the Pain Away_, with Pam and Tara doing the … well, you know. It incorporates episodes 5 and 6, with some poetic license to make the story work.

This story is short, for me. It's going to be about 50,000 words, maybe more. Probably more, knowing me. The complete outline for all twenty chapters is set forth below. I've written a lot of it already, and will try to update frequently until I release all twenty chapters.

(2) I don't own the True Blood characters. If I did, Episode 5 would have looked like this.

(3) I really enjoy hearing readers' reactions. It motivates me and makes me smile. So I'd appreciate it immensely if you left me a little love, even if it's a sentence or two.

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**Chapter 1 **

**Table of Contents**

**Part I**

**Pam and Tara Arrive at LAVTF Vamp Camp**

Chapter 1 – Table of Contents; Author's Notes

**_Night One for Pam and Tara at LAVTF Vamp Camp_**

Chapter 2 – Pam Practices Her Own Version of Mindful Meditation

Chapter 3 – Dr. "Perv" Vince May Have Found His Perfect Patient

Chapter 4 - Tara Thinks, Fights, Makes New Friends, Practices Controlling Humans, Remembers Her Past and Meets Up With Jessica in GenPop

Chapter 5 - Pam Starts Her Therapy Session With Dr. "Perv" Vince

Chapter 6 – Steve Newlin is a Cowardly Little Gay Vamp Douche

Chapter 7 – Pam Continues Her Therapy Session With Dr. "Perv" Vince

Chapter 8 – Pam Engages in a Battle With an Unexpected Opponent

Chapter 9 – Dr. Vince Gives Ginger an In-take and Discovers Information About Pam

Chapter 10 – Pam Meets Up With Tara and Jessica in the GenPop Holding Area

Chapter 11 – Dr. Vince Speaks With Willa Burrell

**_Night Two for Pam and Tara at LAVTF Vamp Camp_**

Chapter 12 – Governor Burrell Talks With His Daughter Willa

Chapter 13 – Dr. Vince Considers the Nature of Sharks and Interviews Jessica

Chapter 14 – Pam Shows Violet the Meaning of the Term "Ruthless Bitch"

Chapter 15 – Tara Learns What It Means to Be a Level 3 Vampire

Chapter 16 – Dr. Vince Makes Pam and Tara An Indecent Proposal

**Part II **

**The Decent Part of Dr. Vince's Indecent Proposal**

Chapter 17 - Pam and Tara's Couples Therapy Session

**Part III **

**The F Words**

Chapter 18 – Fucking

Chapter 19 – First Date

Chapter 20 – First Time


	2. Pam's Version of Mindful Meditation

**Is It Bad? (aka "F the Pain Away Reprise")**

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**Author's Notes:**

(1) I don't own the True Blood characters. If I did, Episode 5 would have looked like this.

(2) I really enjoy hearing readers' reactions. It motivates me and makes me smile. So I'd appreciate it immensely if you left me a little love, even if it's a sentence or two.

* * *

**Part I**

**Pam and Tara Arrive at LAVTF Vamp Camp**

**Chapter 2**

**_Pam Practices Her Own Version of Mindful Meditation_**

**_# # # # # _**

_Night One for Pam and Tara at LAVTF Vamp Camp_

Is it bad that Pamela Swynford de Beaufort was pissed the fuck off? No, it was a good thing. A very good thing from her perspective. For Pam, being pissed off was a kind of moving meditation. It wasn't exactly Zen Buddhism, but it was as close as the beautiful but ruthless blonde could get to that spiritual frame of mind. At long last, Pam had finally reached just the right state of "pissed-offness" (yes, that's a word in Pam's personal dictionary) to elicit inner peace and tranquility.

Granted, it had taken the normally acerbic blonde a bit of time to snap out of her panic over the terrifying cocktail of Bill Compton's sudden and frightening transformation into "god knows the fuck what, some kind of vampire god," and her recently conferred status of social pariah and fugitive from her own government. Pam the bar owner couldn't help but muse that life was a bitter fucking drink right about now, and it had taken Pam some time to get used to the burning sensation coursing down her throat.

But even that bitter, burning sensation was preferable to the fetid taste of watered down True Blood. Pam called it True Piss - _dinner du jour_ for vampires being held in the Louisiana Vampire Task Force (LAVTF) prison camp, or Vamp Camp, as it was so lovingly called by both the human guards and vampire prisoners. Pam never imagined that she could miss actual full-strength True Blood, but she did. To think, just a day ago she wouldn't drink anything that wasn't sucked out of a living vein. Now she almost longed for one of those 19 oz. bottled beverages, in any blood type. She laughed to herself at the irony.

Pam had been shot, captured, checked in, relieved of her fashionable civilian clothing (_fucking bastards), _showered, dressed in the latest in detainee fashion wear, and deposited into the main female holding area. After all that adventure, Pam had some free time at the moment, which she used to retreat to her thoughts.

The angry blonde sat alone at a round white table at a far end of the circular general population (GenPop) holding area for female vampires. She heard the clicking of the guards' shoes against the steel mesh, see-through walkways above her head. The constant echoing of the guards' footsteps and the circular and expansive shape of the large GenPop room made Pam feel that she was surrounded, and watched, at all times. It was oppressive, and angering.

Pam tried not to be, but she was a worrier. So for her, the anticipation of shit was always worse than the actual shit itself. She had fretted about what humans would do to her and her family, why vampires were being rounded up and where they were being taken, and what tortures awaited those vampires who had been interned in prison camp. All these unknowns disturbed the hell out of Pam and drove her bat shit crazy. She hated that feeling of anxiety closing in on her, paralyzing her. She hated fear. Pam hated feelings in general, except for the various stages of pissed off that she tried to maintain as her emotional status quo. But now, all those unknowns that Pam had dreaded were largely known.

Pam was now captured. She was now in the belly of the beast. Shit was probably going downhill fast from this point, but at least now she was on the hill and able to look below, at least part of the way, into the abyss. This knowledge, and the comfort of prison's limited options, allowed Pam to stop worrying for a little while and return to a state of mental equilibrium. For Pam, mental equilibrium always involved some degree of being pissed off.

As she sat in the GenPop holding area, Pam carefully assessed her surroundings. She pretended to concentrate on the incredibly interesting task of swirling her slightly-open, tiny jug of putrid dinner. The liquid was an odd color of off-red, due to being so watered down. She had taken the tiniest sip of the stuff and decided that she would need to be much closer to starving before the drink would be even remotely appealing as nourishment.

But there were other vampire prisoners in the room who had obviously gone without an infusion of rich human blood long enough to make the loathsome liquid taste like ambrosia. Pam felt their hungry, aggressive eyes caressing her little jug of red piss from all directions. The visual assaults made her instinctively grip her dinner, not so much because she wanted it, but because it was _hers_. Possession was a matter of principle in a place like this. That little jug of red, vile insipidity was territory that Pam needed to fiercely protect. She knew all too well the rules of engagement in situations where the natural hierarchies among vampires were exponentially intensified by stress and scarce resources.

Pam sat ramrod straight, alone at her table, glaring and swirling her little dinner jug. While one hand laid claim to her dinner, the other hand surreptitiously dug two long grooves on the underside of the table where she sat. She varied the tempo of her digging, sometimes stopping completely, so as not to attract attention from either the guards or vampires.

Pam had been scraping the underside of that table from the moment she discovered that it was made of mostly, _but not entirely_, fabricated wood. A little bit of real wood was enough to fashion a makeshift stake. Pam had surveyed the room and quickly determined that at some point she would probably have to deliver the True Death to one of these high ridin', swaggerin' vamp bitches. The posturing going on in the GenPop holding area looked like something straight out of a sexploitation women in prison movie. Pam loved those movies, by the way.

She sized up her fellow prisoners. One bitch in particular, a brown-haired woman named Violet, caught her eye. Pam guessed she was about Eric's age, maybe a little younger. She hung with a lieutenant, a blonde that appeared to be about 700 years old; and two dark-haired sycophants, both around 500 years old. The four of them had formed an uneasy alliance, figuring that by not competing with each other they could divide the younger vamp spoils among them without unnecessary bloodshed. The bitches were smart.

Pam watched the four women work. A new, scared baby vamp would enter GenPop and the lieutenant and two sycophants would rush in as soon as the cell door closed, intimidating the shit out of her. Just as the frightened baby vamp was about to flip the fuck out, in swooped Violet to save the day. Violet drove away the three aggressive vampires, or rather, she _pretended _to drive them away; but the baby vamp didn't know this. Violet then casually put her arm around the scared but grateful baby. Pam watched the smooth seduction with a bit of amusement.

Violet would first use a carrot, promising the scared baby protection. If that failed to influence the baby vamp into compliance, then Violet used the stick, insisting that the baby owed her for the protection provided. Pam imagined that, either way, it wouldn't take long before said baby vamp was initiated, willingly or not, in the ways of Sapphic love by Violet, then traded back and forth among the four self-appointed queenpins of GenPop.

Pam had no issue with fucking men if she absolutely had to do it. She'd done it for years as a brothel prostitute. It was business or survival. Either way it was nothing. But women were different. She could fuck women, too. She loved fucking women, but only if she was in complete control. She'd be damned if she was going to be topped by _any_ woman. Pam loved the ladies, exclusively, but she had no interest in being anybody's lesbian bottom. In prison, the rule was once a bottom, always a bottom. Too much shit went with that label. Shit Pam didn't like.

Pam felt Violet's eyes raking over her from the moment she set foot in GenPop. Why not? And, of course. Pam was way too much dangerous vampire sexiness to pass up, notwithstanding, or maybe because of, her cerulean death stare and "don't fuck with me" attitude. Pam knew it was only a matter of time before one or more of the queenpins of GenPop tested her, and she planned to be ready to shove that fucking test up their asses.

An annoyance jolted Pam out of her musings about Violet and company. The blonde abruptly lifted her stake making hand from beneath the table and scratched her arm. _Fuck. She itched. _Pam hated the stupid, unfashionable, loose fitting, puke blue prison-issue linens. If not for the fact that every prisoner was wearing the same hideous scrubs, Pam would swear the clothing was an instrument of torture designed especially for her.

Fortunately, Pam had makeup to console her. How she'd managed to stay looking so done up and beautiful, she wasn't saying. A girl has her secrets. Let's just say Ms. Swynford de Beaufort had to think fast during her short ride in the LAVTF paddy wagon about how and where to hide the not so tiny travel makeup kit that she kept on the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Body orifices were useful for so many things. Sometimes a girl has to endure a little discomfort for the sake of glamour.

Pam let a smirk take over her perfectly painted lips at the thought of her smuggled beauty products. She then continued the mental exercise that had been occupying her thoughts for the past hour or so. Her mind had been racing all over the place due to being stressed and pissed off, so she gave it a task to do. That always worked. Pam's mental task for right now - she searched for the moment, the exact moment that marked the start of the shit storm that was now swirling around her. It was her little demented version of _Where's Waldo?_

There were so many possibilities for _the moment_. Of course, there was the witch war with Marnie and that awful spell those Moon Goddess bitches had cast on her. Those bitch witches had temporarily destroyed her face. But as angering as that was, that wasn't the moment. Shit had kind of calmed down after Marnie died.

There was the still-too-painful-to-think-about moment when Eric released her, but that wasn't it.

And then there was Tara. _Tara. _Pam smiled a little despite herself when she recalled the first few days of Tara being with her at Fangtasia. There was no one around the vamp holding area who knew her, so she allowed herself the indulgence of the tiniest of smiles. The slight upturn of Pam's lips came at the thought of her and Tara, together and alone … alone together … at Fangtasia.

Pam was able to admit to herself, in the privacy of her own thoughts, that despite how much she initially told herself that Tara grated her last nerve, being with Tara at Fangtasia was … _not so bad._ Pam had chosen to turn Tara, and she had chosen ultimately to take in the baby vamp. She gave her progeny some truly fabulous clothes and a job, and Tara gave her … well … Pam wasn't ready to name it, yet. But something, something that was _not so bad. _So no, that wasn't it. The shit storm had started after that _not so bad_ first few days with Tara at Fangtasia.

Pam ultimately decided that the first drops of shit hail had really landed with two back to back events, one significant on a grand and sweeping scale. The other was monumental on a personal level. First, there was the bombing of the True Blood factories. Yes, that spelled nationwide doom for vampires. But within the confines of Pam's own tiny world in and around Shreveport, Pam knew trouble was coming from the moment Sheriff Elijah Stormer set foot in Fangtasia.

National shit storms started with the factory bombings, but local Louisiana shit started when Stormer was made sheriff of Area Five. From that point, the balls of shit hail just kept falling one after the other on Pam's head, nonstop.

The little fucktard sheriff was dead, thanks to her progeny. But Pam still couldn't get over the audacity of Stormer, the puissant vampire who so reminded her of a cast reject from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, sitting on her throne. First, it had been Eric's throne. But then it was _her_ throne. Rather, it _had been _her throne. Now that the State of Louisiana had shut down all vampire run businesses and she had been forced to seek safety in … of all places, Ginger's house … Pam wasn't sure whether she'd ever lay claim to that throne again.

But Pam's mind digressed, which it had been doing a lot of since she was captured and taken to Vamp Camp. Pam swirled her jug of True blood swill, concentrated, and glared, just in case one of these queenpin vamp bitches had gotten the wrong idea from that little smile that briefly curled her lips and was thinking about testing her. No takers. Good. Real fucking good.

So back to the shit storm that began with Elijah Stormer. He was so aptly named that it would be fucking funny if shit weren't so serious now. But it kind of still was, funny, that is. That's one of the many things Pam loved about herself. Even during a shit storm, with the shit literally falling like brown balls of hail around her, the blonde kept her sense of humor. In fact, that sense of humor seemed always to kick into overdrive during the worst of times, much to the annoyance of her maker. But her maker was a topic for a little later. Oh yes, he fucking was.

Now, where was she? Yeah, fucking start of the shit storm that hurricaned into her being taken prisoner at Vamp Camp and swirling true blood piss in a room full of pent up queenpin vamp bitches. Big brown stinkin' hail and all that shit.

So anyway, after unceremoniously knocking Pam across her own dance floor, Sheriff Frankenfurter (over-dressed though he was) informed her and everyone else listening that he was now the big vampire kahuna in charge. He was the Grand Poobah of Upper Butt Crack, otherwise known as Louisiana Area 5. Stormer then officially declared open season for public feeding on humans. Pam watched in horror as Stormer proceeded to suck the necks of random human customers while sitting out in the open, on her fucking throne, in the middle of her fucking bar.

Pam had always eschewed politics of any kind, be it human or vampire; and she certainly never rocked any boats. She preferred to keep her mouth shut and let her perky tits do all the talking. If it wasn't for her maker Eric being a sheriff, Pam would have stayed even further away from political intrigue than she did. But it didn't take a political genius to know that what Elijah Stormer was doing and advocating was going to have serious repercussions. The question wasn't if shit was going to hit the fan for vampires, it was when and how much?

As the song _Sweet Transvestite _played in her head, Pam mused cynically that Elijah Stormer's open defiance of mainstreaming and much of what followed from vampire leadership seemed deliberately calculated to piss off humans. The most glaring example of deliberate provocation was the bombing of the True Blood factories. It was as if someone _wanted_ humans to declare open season on vampires. Pam had no doubt, even at the time, that those machinations were being driven by the Authority.

Given what she had witnessed as she fled her Authority jail cell, it also seemed clear to Pam that all roads pointed to Bill fucking Compton as the main culprit for most of this shit. Immediately, the thought of Bill Compton made Pam think of the word _O-thoro-tay_, Bill's insipid, annoying Southern pronunciation of the word. Pam rolled her eyes. And this time, the glare on Pam's face was genuine, not feigned.

Pam's glare intensified as her thoughts traveled a mental trail that took her from Elijah Stormer to True Blood factory bombings to Bill fucking Compton to the word _O-thoro-tay _to Chancellors of the fucking _O-thoro-tay_ to Chancellor Nora – Eric's … _sister. _A sister with a pompous, irritating British accent. A sister who Pam never knew about. A sister who Eric clearly loved.

Pam winced despite herself. How could Eric and she be together for more than one hundred years, and she have no idea about something so monumental in his life? How could Eric look her in the face over and over for all those years, and never say a word? Pam pushed away the hurt that stabbed viciously at what used to be her heart. Eric's British slut sister was definitely a topic for a later time.

Pam redirected her thoughts yet again, back to more palatable, less painful topics. Elijah Stormer. Rocky Horror Picture Show. Sweet Transvestites. Lafayette. _No, Pam. Fucking concentrate. _

Pam was a planner, and a calculator. She calculated the numbers that made up her profitable revenues at Fangtasia, which consisted partly of appropriately ordered cases of liquor, wine and True Blood. And the blonde was just as talented at calculating the next moves of the humans and vampires with whom she interacted. Pam knew that trouble was going to come as soon as she laid eyes on Elijah Stormer, and she immediately began planning courses of action. She played out permutations over and over in her mind. _If that, then this. _She planned to wait and see how certain things played out, then make moves accordingly.

Playing proverbial chess was a skill that every vampire needed to perfect, especially if they wanted to avoid the True Death. Pam was damn good at chess. Damn good. Until her accidental progeny, Tara Mae Thornton, that is. After Tara came into her life, it seemed that Pam suddenly couldn't play chess worth shit.

Pam had replayed her rare miscalculations regarding Tara more than a thousand times. She had plenty of fucking time to do that while she was holed up in her steel gated _O-thoro-tay_ jail cell. That is … when Jessica wasn't yacking her ear off. Which come to think of it was every waking moment of the night and even during daylight hours when vampires are supposed to be sleeping like the dead that they are.

So strike that. Accounting for the rare mental quiet time she managed to snatch from Bill Compton's Orphan Annie demon spawn, Pam had thought about what she did wrong regarding Tara maybe four hundred times, not one thousand. But the point was she had gone over it in her head a fucking lot. Pam had concluded that, looking back, there was no way she could have predicted what happened.

Sure, Pam had felt Tara's agitation through their maker-progeny bond when Sheriff Stormer started demanding money to cover protection and other bullshit fees. Tara's worry was a reflection of her own worries, but that was normal maker-progeny shit. Progeny Pam had experienced the same kind of residual angst the few times her maker Eric was really worried about something. That type of thing was nothing to be concerned about, at least not typically. But Pam had learned the hard way that Tara wasn't typical, in any sense of the word.

And sure, Pam had sensed the unadulterated panic running through Tara when Stormer threatened to take all of Pam's assets, including Tara. Pam also knew that Tara was horrified more about the idea of somebody referring to her as an asset than being taken _per se. _Although, yes, Tara definitely didn't want to be taken away from Pam. That thought warmed Pam for just a moment, and then she made herself push past it.

And finally, yes … Pam had felt the waves of intense protectiveness and sadness that flooded the bond from her progeny when Pam had resigned herself that she and Tara were going to flee Fangtasia and live in the wind. Pam had almost turned tearful with the thought of leaving her bar. Her bar was stability. Her bar was home. Leaving it would feel like ripping out a piece of her undead heart.

No matter how hard she tried, Pam couldn't cut off all that shit she was feeling. She couldn't completely block the bond. So Tara took in a whole lot of it. And evidently, Tara had failed to take in the other implications of Pam's decision to let Sheriff Stormer have Fangtasia. Tara had failed to understand that Pam, in her own way, was essentially saying that wherever Tara was, that was going to be home.

Or maybe Tara did understand the significance of Pam's decision, which made the blonde's stubborn progeny all the more willing to just not give a fuck and kill Stormer. Pam barely had words for the scene she found of a screaming Ginger (Ginger screaming wasn't uncommon, but still) covered in Elijah Stormer goo and Tara unapologetically wielding Eric's sword.

Pam's mind replayed Tara's words, "We're not runnin'. Nobody fucks with us in _our _house." Pam had to admit, she was touched and impressed by the whole thing - the plan, the execution, the proclamation – all of it. And Pam was the kind of bitch that was rarely touched, at least on the inside.

Tara was stupid (or more accurately, she did stupid shit) and sweet. She was bullheaded and brave. She was dumb and dashing, quick-tempered and Quixotic. She was all of that shit at the same damn time, and it drove Pam crazy – good crazy and bad crazy.

Tara was like those pop rock candies from the 1970s that supposedly killed human children when they downed the fizzy sweet treats with too much soda pop. Pam knew Tara was explosive. In fact, just like those addictive pop rocks, Pam found Tara to be _deliciously _explosive, and that was the problem. The blonde had tried to contain her progeny without dimming her fiery spirit, and now she wondered whether that had been a mistake.

Pam parented baby vamp Tara the way she had been parented, but more sternly. Pam knew enough to at least institute harsher discipline tactics with Tara than Eric had applied with her. Whereas Eric had been indulgent, at times overly so, Pam had reigned Tara in with chokes and harsh language. Times were different, and there was much less room in the modern world for baby vamps to explore their feral vampiric natures. Baby vampires had an extremely low survival rate, a fact that haunted Pam at all times and made her vigilant about protecting Tara.

Pam believed at the time, before Elijah Stormer's untimely demise, that her punishments and constraints were sufficient. This assumption was wrongly based on Pam's own memories of herself as a baby vampire. It had never occurred to progeny Pam to go off on her own and do something as idiotic … _and dashing and fucking badass … _as kill a fucking sheriff and representative of the _O-thoro-tay_, who oh by the way was thousands of times older than her.

Yes, Pam was bitchass at playing chess. But chess is learned through practice and experience, and nothing in Pam's experience had prepared her for the maelstrom that was Tara Thornton. Progeny Pam pouted but mostly did what she was told by Eric, even now. And Eric had fucking released her, for god's sake. Tara didn't do much of what she was told. And when Pam's baby vamp _did_ do what she was told, it was likely because it mostly coincided with what Tara wanted to do anyway.

Pam spent a lot of time blaming herself for Tara's mistakes. Tara was a baby vampire, but she was an old soul in terms of her human experience. And Pam slowly discovered that a lot of Tara's human experiences had carried over into her vampire life. Tara was highly intelligent, and thoughtful. Maybe if Pam had taught her more instead of yelling at her and choking her, Tara would have understood the danger of killing Stormer and exercised some self control. Knowing her progeny, probably not. Control wasn't Tara's strong suit. But maybe.

Maybe Pam should have explained more about vampire politics and hierarchy. But it just hadn't occurred to her to do that with a fucking days' old baby vampire. Progeny Pam soaked that information up over decades of just … being with Eric, keeping her mouth shut and watching. But Tara Thornton wasn't the "watch and listen" type, not by a long shot.

So Tara killed Elijah Stormer to protect her maker, and just before that the True Blood factories had burned to the ground. It wasn't long thereafter that the easily foreseeable consequences of worldwide shortages of True Blood took hold, and vampires started openly attacking humans.

It also wasn't long after Sheriff Stormer's death that the reasonably foreseeable visit from Stormer's Chancellor maker happened. When Rosalyn Harris sauntered into Fangtasia, Pam knew what was about to go down. Pam hadn't been fooled for one minute by Rosalyn's lazy Southern drawl and suburban housewife shtick. The whole package was just an affectation. Underneath that getup was an efficient, ruthless killer. As a lover of costumes, Pam knew masks when she saw them.

The vampire attacks around Louisiana and the rest of the country were exacerbated by the _O-thoro-tay _mandate to make new vampire babies. Apparently, vampire constituents around the state had faithfully followed those orders and made lots of new babies, but saw no need to teach said babies self control or take care of them. Since raising a baby vampire is a huge responsibility that a maker has to want to undertake, hoards of hungry, feral baby vamps roaming the dark roads of Louisiana looking for food … human food … was all predictable.

It was just as predictable that the _O-thoro-tay_ would come looking for Sheriff Stormer. Pam took the fall for Tara, as she had decided to do virtually from the moment she discovered what her progeny had done. And apparently, while Pam was on her way to the _O-thoro-tay_ as it's newest prisoner, her maker Eric, for some god-forsaken reason Pam still didn't understand, decided to kill a human general in the United States fuckin' Army.

And by the way, her maker, being the overachiever that he was, didn't just kill any old general. Oh no. He killed a general who had just told him and the rest of the _O-thoro-tay _chancellor fucktards that humans had new state-of-the-art vampire weapons, and were prepared to use them.

Humans in fact had _lots_ of new vampire weapons, which they did in fact promptly use to round up vampires and show them in no uncertain terms who was boss. Humans ruled the day; and now apparently, they ruled the night, as well. Vampires were now learning the hard way that, contrary to their own propaganda, they weren't the top of the food chain. The food was pissed and fighting back.

So, Pam and Tara and Eric and fucking Nora (_stay on fucking topic Pam) … _and demon spawn Jessica and fucking Sookie and even bigger fucking Jason Stackhouse (_thank god the three of them left and went their own fucking way) _were literally on the run. And in the midst of vampire roundups, prison camp internments, curfews and what had basically become an all out war campaign by humans against vampires, there was Pam's erstwhile progeny Tara, trying to run off into the goddamn night against family orders.

First, Tara had tried to run off with Jessica and Sookie fuckin' Stackhouse the night they rescued Pam from imprisonment at the _O-thoro-tay _headquarters. Tara actually thought she was going with stupid Jessica and idiot Sookie to return the red haired demon spawn to her devil Daddy, or whatever the fuck Bill Compton was now. That shit wasn't fuckin' going to happen. And then tonight, Tara did manage to run away. This, of course, meant Pam had to chase her ass.

And to top it all off, said disobedient progeny fled into the night carrying in tow the one bargaining chip they had – Willa Burrell, the fucking governor's daughter. To be fair, Pam was only referring to Willa Burrell as a bargaining chip for the sake of this current mental exercise. Pam personally had been down for killing princess bitch Willa, and still was, preferably in some symbolic and highly tortuous fashion.

Pam detested Willa from the word "go." The bitch's dreamy eyes for Eric and wispy voice, and the response both the eyes and the voice elicited from Eric, reminded Pam of a brunette Sookie Stackhouse, in all the worst ways. Of course, was there really a good way to be reminded of Sookie Stackhouse? A dead, stupid blonde doppelgänger maybe, but other than that … no.

But still, none of the above was the fucking point. The point was trouble always followed Tara, especially soon after her frequent refusals to do what the fuck she was told. Tara never did what the fuck she was told. Ever. The point also was that Tara's stupid disobedient antics kept fucking up Pam's shit, major case in point being right the fuck now.

But then there was that familiar half-smile threatening to once again curl itself around Pam's lips like a warm blanket. Despite the fact that because of Tara's most recent theatrics, Pam was sitting in the middle of something resembling the film set for _Chained Heat, _the blonde still marveled at Tara's boldness.

Pam liked Tara's bravado, a lot. It unnerved her at first, but she also liked that Tara didn't take any of Eric's shit. It was fun to watch, really. In fact, that little smile adorning Pam's lips was too mirthful to be just any old blanket. That smile was more like a bright-red Snuggie. The truth was that Pam found Tara Thornton both exhilarating and infuriating, a fact that itself both exhilarated and infuriated the blonde, even as she sat pretend glaring in the GenPop holding area of Vamp Camp.

There was one good thing that had come out of all this crazy shit. At least now Pam knew the signs, the pattern of emotional messages flowing through the bond from Tara that signaled a bout of impending stupidity. Before Pam had time to contemplate this, she was jolted out of her thoughts. There it was, the familiar pattern, the ominous emotional cues. Pam stopped moving and concentrated, hoping against everything that she wasn't feeling what she knew she was feeling.

But there it was, the all-too familiar set of emotions – fear, despair, resoluteness, the comfort of a made decision, followed soon thereafter by an adrenalin rush. Pam had learned the hard way that her progeny didn't handle extreme emotions by letting them stew. Pam was a stewer, but Tara was a _doer. _

Tara drifted in a sea of unpleasant emotions just long enough to plot a course of action. During the plotting stage, Pam felt the cresting waves of Tara's inner emotional sea, so powerful and unrelenting it threatened to drown her. And then she felt the sensation of swimming against the rippling thrall, the whirring of mental and emotional circuitry as a game plan was hatched. Then the eerie calm, followed soon thereafter by tremors of deep, rumbling movement. That was Tara in action. That was Tara doing something stupid.

Pam had felt this exact cocktail of emotions flowing into her just before Tara killed Elijah Stormer, and again when she stormed the _O-thoro-tay _to, as Tara had so eloquently put it, "get her the fuck outta jail."

Pam had felt this same pattern of feelings, albeit to a lesser degree of intensity, just before Tara disappeared with Willa Burrell. And she had felt those same emotions in rapid succession when Tara challenged the guards who held them at gunpoint in Fangtasia. The result of that particular bout of stupidity was that Tara got herself fried with a UV bullet.

And right now, at this very instant, Pam was feeling all of those emotions, in the same familiar order. But now that pattern of emotions was screaming into Pam, intense and as clear as morse code. The signal was spelling out, "Your progeny is at it again. She's now, as you feel this, in the middle of doing some totally fucktarded and stupid shit that is likely to get her, or you, fucking killed."

Pam breathed in and out, trying to calm herself on the inside, and _look_ calm on the outside. Despite her best efforts, Pam was extremely worried. By now, the blonde knew better than to set any mental limits on the extent of stupid … _dashing and badass ... _to which her progeny would dare to go, especially when it came to her maker. Pam steeled herself for the possibility of suddenly being hit with physical pain. She prayed that Tara didn't get herself shot again. Or worse. Pam pushed that particular lump of fear out of her mind, down into her throat, and swallowed it.

Pam knew something was happening with Tara, but there was nothing she could do. She was trapped in Vamp Camp prison. This time, limited choices weren't at all comforting. The ruthless blonde wasn't religious. She hadn't been for a long time, and when she was it was in another life that had died long ago. But now she prayed that Tara stayed safe. She also prayed that Tara wasn't alone. She hoped her baby was with Eric.

Suddenly an image flashed in Pam's mind of Nora helping her hold Tara as Eric removed the burning UV bullet from Tara's side. Despite the blonde's visceral disgust, the thought was oddly comforting. Nora was a British slut bitch that she never knew about. That part Pam was sure about. But Nora also was … family. So despite herself, Pam even prayed that if Tara wasn't with Grand Daddy Eric, she was hopefully with … Aunt Nora. _Oh what the fuck!_

Pam felt a sharp stab of pain in her side. She knew it was Tara. Her progeny had been shot. _Fuck! _Pam concentrated, trying to keep her mind from racing, trying to look like she was bored while her insides raged. Tara wasn't dead, just mildly injured. She had been shot with something that hurt, but it wasn't a burning UV bullet. Tara would heal. And more importantly, she was alive. _For now._

Pam went into her mind and pretended to do a footrace. She couldn't actually do it, because she was held up in the GenPop holding area. But had she been free, she would have instinctively raced toward the feeling of her injured progeny. Her feet would have moved as if on autopilot, using the bond as a homing device. She wouldn't stop moving until she reached Tara. As Pam did this running exercise in her mind, she jolted as her imaginary feet stopped moving much sooner than expected. _Tara wasn't far from her. Not far at all. Oh fuck me! _

Pam was positive at this point that Tara was somewhere in Vamp Camp. In fact, as she thought more about the feeling of Tara's pain coming into her through the bond, she recalled the survival game she had been forced to play upon arrival. She had easily outlasted all three of her opponents, but two of them were shot during the exercise. Pam strongly suspected that Tara had just been taken through the survival game, and was probably now being sorted and given her prison linens.

And why wouldn't Tara be in Vamp Camp? It was the only logical place for the baby vamp to be. Just as Tara eventually ended up in the _O-thoro-tay_ when Pam was taken there, her bull-headed baby vamp would of course eventually make her way to Vamp Camp because Pam was there. Pam suddenly remembered that when Tara came to _O-thoro-tay_ headquarters, she at least had the good sense to first find Eric … _and Nora. _The thought that Eric … _and Nora _… might be with Tara instantly made Pam feel better. She started to calm down.

Pam sat at her lonely white table. She wasn't swirling her jug of red swill anymore, and she wasn't carving out a stake from the underside of the table. She itched like a motherfucker, but she ignored it. All her mental energy was focused on feeling Tara, determining that her progeny was okay.

Pam was so rapt in concentration that she didn't notice the guards coming toward her until they were grabbing her arms and yanking her up from her seat. She had to keep Tara in the back of her mind for now. Her baby was still alive, and Eric and Nora were probably somewhere in the camp, as well. Right now, Pam needed her game face for wherever she was being taken, and whatever was about to happen to her. _Damnit, Tara. Just. Fuck!_

Pam barked as the guards yanked her hard down a long hallway, "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

One of the guards sneered, "Shut the fuck up, fanger bitch. One day you're going to hell. You'll find out where you're going right now when you get there."

Pam scowled and took in the details of the fucktard guard's scent. She prayed and planned for the day, hopefully soon, when she would get to eat his ass for dinner.

**Next Chapter:** Dr. "Perv" Vince May Have Found His Perfect Patient.

Author's Notes:

(1) Mindful Meditation is a Buddhist philosophy and meditative/relaxation technique that involves three basic awarenesses – awareness of body, awareness of breath, and awareness of thoughts. Pam is doing a pretty good job with the first awareness, since her body's most active function is her bond with Tara. Since Tara's been constantly working that bond's synapses to no end, Pam is very aware of it. The second awareness, breath, is a non-issue. Pam's a vampire, so she doesn't need to breathe. Finally, Pam's doing pretty well with thought awareness. She's got lots of thoughts, mostly about killing and eating, and she's relishing all of them.

The point of mindfulness is to be completely aware of what is happening, both inside ourselves and outside ourselves. The point is not to try and stop thinking. Since Pam is very aware of her thoughts, and her surroundings, particularly Violet and those other queenpin Vamp bitches, I'd say she's doing a good job at creating personal Zen in a highly stressful situation. Although her approach is a bit unorthodox.

(2) The term "Grand Poobah of Upper Butt Crack" was used by the character Dolores Claiborne, played by Kathy Bates, in the movie _Dolores Claiborne._

(3) The term "high ridin' bitch" is also from _Dolores Claiborne. _It was used by the character Vera Donovan (a self-proclaimed high ridin' bitch), played by Judy Parfitt.


	3. Dr Perv Vince's Perfect Patient

**Is It Bad? (aka "F the Pain Away Reprise")**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

(1) So, as you will see, I used the creepy therapist who interviewed Pam in Episode 5 as my point of entry for exploring Pam and Tara's feelings for each other, their pain, and their efforts to deal with that pain. Like a True Blood episode, this story does feature other characters, except that I promise every segment with other characters is there ultimately to advance Pam and Tara's story.

My idea for this story stemmed in part from that lecherous look the psychiatrist gave Pam when she was feeding on SomChai, the blood donor. The doctor's arousal was voyeuristic and palpable; he wasn't even hiding it. This made me think, "Gee, if he can't even contain himself in this situation, what else lurks beneath the surface of him?" This then caused me to ask why and how this doctor came to work at Vamp Camp? I also wanted to know his backstory and how he evolved into this creepy guy. So I went off to do a bit of research and thinking, and this is what I came up with.

Finally, the cast notes list the therapist character's first name as "Finn." They don't give a last name. The actor who plays the psychiatrist is Pruitt Taylor Vince. I used his last name for the character's last name, and the nickname "Perv" speaks for itself.

(2) Dr. Overlark is the middle-aged man wearing the glasses and white lab coat. He conducts the scientific experiments on vampires, including the copulation studies. He's in the scene where Governor Burrell talks to Eric Northman just before he's pitted against Pam for a battle in the Games Room. He announces that Governor Truman Burrell wants to speak with Eric Northman.

(3) I don't own the True Blood characters. If I did, Episode 5 would have looked like this.

(4) I really enjoy hearing readers' reactions. It motivates me and makes me smile. So I'd appreciate it immensely if you left me a little love, even if it's a sentence or two.

* * *

**Part I**

**Pam and Tara Arrive at LAVTF Vamp Camp**

**Chapter 3**

**_Dr. "Perv" Vince May Have Found His Perfect Patient_**

**_# # # # #_**

Dr. Finn Vince was the lead psychiatrist for the LAVTF Vamp Camp. He had been excitedly planning for the start of this job for more than eight months, developing therapy protocols for vampires, working with the testing staff on cross-disciplinary research ideas, and outfitting his spacious office in exactly the way he wanted.

Dr. Vince exercised exclusive control over the LAVTF Psychiatric Testing Program, and he had significant collaborative authority with all other LAVTF research departments. He also helped design all the major testing centers for the LAVTF facility, along with Dr. Overlark, the Chief Scientist.

Dr. Vince was part of the small, exclusive group of professionals who ran the LAVTF research facility. He worked closely with Dr. Overlark to manage and document vampire testing. He conferred regularly with Governor Truman Burrell and Sarah Newlin, whose funding and connections in the anti-vampire community had helped build the massive facility. He and Dr. Overlark had created all the examination and intake protocols, including the vampire ranking system, of which Dr. Vince was especially proud.

Vampires were divided into four main levels, based on their performance on an intake survival game. Level 4s lost first. They were the slowest and least intelligent of their testing group, and were destined for physiological experiments. These were brutal physical investigations, and occasionally Level 4s were subjected to horrific psychological traumas, as well. What happens when you pluck a vampires fangs? How about when they are silvered? Deprived of sleep or food? Or staked? Basically, Level 4s were destined to be subjected to and tested undergoing the most ingenious tortures scientists could think up, until they died.

Level 3s were slated for the copulation study, which examined any and all aspects of vampire sexuality. A lot of intelligent but younger vampires landed in this group, especially if they competed against older, stronger vampires. The copulation study gathered data and sought to answer questions about vampire sexual practices, sexual preferences, frequency of sex, duration of sex and stamina, quantity and quality of orgasms. Do vampires have sexual taboos? Are all vampires pansexual? Are male vampires multi-orgasmic? Does Viagra have any effect on vampires?

Level 2s were slated for endurance tests and some mental functioning tasks, what scientists called treadmill and "taskmill" work. How fast can vampires run? Do they get tired? How and how often do they feed? How do they solve problems? Do intelligence levels vary, and how do vampire intellectual capabilities compare to humans? Do vampires have senses beyond those of human beings? Do vampires have heightened human senses (sight, taste, smell, etc.) and if so, to what extent are human-type senses enhanced? How easily can vampires learn a new language?

Level 1s were slated for psychological studies. How do vampires think? What do they think about? How do they feel about life, including human life? Are they religious? Do they have a moral worldview? Do they experience psychological or emotional trauma? How do they experience and process emotional and psychological pain? Do they mourn, experience happiness and fear? Do they engage in the pursuit of or long for self-actualization? Do they have the same range of emotions as humans? Do vampires carry trauma experienced as a human into their vampiric psyches? Do they fear death, the True Death, that is? Do they form families? Do they love?

The shorthand for these categories around the LAVTF research facility was, "Level 1s think. Level 2s play. Level 3s fuck. And Level 4s die."

Dr. Vince didn't encourage this kind of morbid humor, but he also knew enough to resist discouraging it. He was a Northern transplant working in the South. He was an outsider, and he didn't need to further alienate himself by trying to impose his notions of decorum on his colleagues. He did, however, find many of his coworkers to be uncouth, and more than a few were downright bigoted. He had encountered bigotry in other regions of the country, but he found the Louisiana variety particularly ignorant and unapologetic.

Despite some of the racist Neanderthal colleagues he worked with, Dr. Vince roamed the hallways of Vamp Camp with confidence and a sense of personal fulfillment. He had participated in a great deal of what he saw around him. The good doctor didn't build the physical structure of the building, but he had much to do with the structure of the building's life (or perhaps, undeath, in reference to the vampire prisoners), its inner workings and the hum of activity that flowed through its hallways like blood through veins. Human veins, of course.

To many of LAVTF's leadership, especially Sarah Newlin, the interconnected buildings comprising the LAVTF research campus were a physical representation of humanity, a metaphor for some kind of divine struggle. Good versus Evil. The building and its purpose were an ode to human beings, and a rejection of the nonhuman threats to humanity's existence and way of life. Vamp Camp represented the first time in a long time that humans had recaptured control from the supernatural, in this case vampires, in a grand, organized way.

Vampires were previously frightening, unfamiliar, and inaccessible creatures of the night. There's nothing like controlling and dissecting a thing to make it less frightening, more familiar, and more accessible. In this facility, vampires – these creatures that supposedly operated in the supernatural realm, whose creation was attributed to magic – were subjected to the cold, unrelenting gaze of science.

Science didn't fear vampires. Science didn't fear anything. Science could document and categorize down to the atomic level, taking away the mystery, dissolving the magic. Science would turn the supernatural into something ordinary. In time, vampires would be like ice crystals and nuclear fission, just another phenomenon to be studied, understood; and yes, marketed. The corporations had already gotten wind of the facility. They were starting to call with all sorts of interesting proposals. It appeared that soon, in addition to being familiar and accessible, vampires would likely be … a product.

These musings were mildly interesting to Dr. Vince, in the same way that a horrendous car wreck was mildly interesting to drivers passing safely by on a stretch of highway. Vince paid attention to evidences that vampires were being pulled into a state of normality while they were happening, but forgot about them as soon as they were out of sight. But in Dr. Vince's case, he forgot about them because they weren't true.

The good doctor understood that no matter how much Vamp Camp tried to study and dissect and categorize vampires, they would never be made ordinary – "banalized." _Was that a word? If not, it should be._

No, Dr. Vince had seen enough in his short stint of treating the undead to know that vampires would never be boring and predictable, or completely controllable. But he personally didn't want them to be.

People paid attention to horrendous car wrecks, those ones where you just knew someone died, because, for the briefest of moments, the passers by experienced and tried to make sense of an odd intersection of the routine and the catastrophic. The rubbernecking drivers, passing by safely in their cars while running late for work or low on gas and high on boredom, could see the horrific and unpredictable laid bare before them.

The passers by knew that for the unfortunate victims in that accident reflected in their rear view mirror, life had suddenly become … "unboring." _Word? Hmm. Should be if not. _Work and lateness and spilled coffee on white dress shirts had suddenly taken a back seat to reflections on the meaning of life and hospitals and calls to distraught family … _and death._

Every one of us lucky passers by who's ever had the morbid fortune to gawk at the seductive tragedy of a roadside accident knows this truth. No matter how many times we see a catastrophic car wreck in the middle of morning traffic … or any traffic … it's never normalized. It's never familiar, or predictable or controllable. In fact, seeing it reminds us how little control we have. That's why we look despite ourselves.

Similarly, Dr. Vince developed the creeping, frightening suspicion, that the more Vamp Camp tried to control vampires, the more out of control things were going to become. And yet, all the guards and scientists and other workers just kept gawking. Vince gazed out into the metallic winding hallways at his handiwork, and was sometimes reminded of the movie _Jurassic Park_.

Whenever Dr. Overlark started waxing on and on about all the controls the facility had in place, Dr. Vince would hear the voice of Dr. Ian Malcolm, the character played by Jeff Goldblum in the Spielberg movie. In _Jurassic Park_, Malcolm warned the scientists who thought they could control their dinosaur prisoners that life will not be contained. Life finds a way. Or, in the case of LAVTF Vamp Camp, _undeath _would find a way.

**_# # # # #_**

_It was during one of LAVTF Vamp Camp's impromptu strategy meetings that Dr. Vince had first thought of the Louisiana vampire research facility where he now worked as Jurassic Park. This metaphor came thanks to the doomsaying of Dr. Troy Mathis, a Ph.D. mathematician and member of LAVTF's corporate board of directors. Yes, LAVTF wasn't just a state government research facility with quasi-police authority. It was also a semi-private corporation, whatever the hell that meant._

_One thing it meant was that the facility was built and funded by a combination of taxpayer generated bond funds and private investment, like Sarah Newlin and corporate backers. Corporations. Corporations meant boards. Corporations meant accountability to investors, and to men in suits who worried about lawsuits, accidents, investment losses, and more lawsuits. Dr. Troy Mathis was the man hired by the corporations to be the man in the suit, except he didn't wear a suit._

_Mathis was an odd fellow, and Dr. Vince was hardly judgmental since he was an odd fellow. Vince wore lots of sweaters, indoors in Louisiana, no less. So this labeling of Mathis was just for descriptive purposes. _

_Mathis never wore a suit, and instead opted for the same chic outfit – a pair of black acid washed Levis and a black, form fitting, V-neck T-Shirt. "He must have twenty identical jeans and shirts, or a dedicated laundry person," Vince thought to himself. _

_Mathis's ensemble was topped off by lightly tinted (yellow) nerd glasses with big black frames. His shoes were black, of course. And so was his hair, of course. He came from New York. Of course. He was handsome, appeared to be mid-thirties, and he obviously spent a lot of time at the gym and ate Arugula._

_Dr. Vince suspected that he was gay, or at least recreationally into men. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Just a description. It wasn't just the outfit, or the hair, or the glasses, or the chiseled body and moussed, perfect hair. All those were strong clues, yes. But mostly, it was the cocoa-dusted almonds. Dr. Mathis brought endless packets of those things with him and popped them one after the other during a meeting. Anyone who ate something "dusted" was gay._

_On this hot day in mid-Summer, call it July, Dr. Vince listened to a debate among Dr. Mathis, who, as always, looked like a much nicer looking version of the Saturday Night Live character (and host of a fictional German TV show called Sprockets) Dieter, played by Mike Myers. Dr. Vince saw Troy Mathis and couldn't help but think in a bad German accent, "And now comes the time when we dance."_

_Mathis's official title was Executive Advisor and Systems Controls Officer, but that was simply a fancy name for shit slinger. Other board members and staff developed game plans and procedures, and Mathis hurled shit at them. He wanted to see what stuck. _

_Around the table dodging shit were Dr. Vince, Governor Burrell, Sarah Newlin, Dr. Overlark and two dweeby scientists, whose names Dr. Vince had never bothered to commit to memory. It was all the effort the good doctor could muster to pay attention to the debate going on._

_The voices droned into his Vince's thoughts:_

_Governor Burrell: I hope you're giving a good report on us, Dr. Mathis._

_Mathis (popping cocoa-dusted almonds): Nope. No, no. I haven't given any report. Yet. And you should thank me, Governor._

_Sarah Newlin: And why is that, doctor?_

_Mathis: Because if I gave that report today, I'd be telling investors they should back out of this whole thing as soon as possible._

_The meeting attendees were annoyed but not alarmed. Everyone knew that this was Dr. Mathis's introduction into some variation of THE SPEECH. The "scare everyone shitless about controls" speech._

_Governor Burrell: What is it now, Troy? We've got four guards for every vampire, just like you suggested._

_Mathis: Yes, that's nice. It's a nice jobs program for your state, which sure does need it. And it does some measure of good in terms of addressing my concerns, but the extra guards don't compensate for other problems I've seen, just today alone._

_Dr. Overlark: What problems? We haven't had a single incident and—_

_Mathis: I'm not looking for incidents you haven't had. I'm looking for incidents you'll probably have, and there are plenty possibilities to choose from._

_Dweeb Scientist 1: With all due respect, doctor –_

_Mathis: You do realize that whenever someone starts a sentence with "with all due respect," they fully intend to be disrespectful?_

_Dweeb Scientist 1 didn't know how to respond. Mathis found this amusing._

_Mathis (popping more cocoa-dusted almonds): Go on._

_Dweeb Scientist 1: With all … uhm. All I'm saying is that we've learned a great deal about vampires since we started the ramp-up testing with the few detainees we have. We know several ways to stop or kill them if they get out of control._

_Mathis: Key words being "few detainees you have." That's not the same as it will be when this facility of full of vampires._

_Dweeb Scientist 2: We've also taken every staff member through a rigid training program. Always wear the anti-glamouring contacts. Two guards always present when escorting a vampire from one containment area to another. Always – _

_Mathis: How does the two-guard rule work when one of the guards is fucking the vampire?_

_Dr. Overlark: Excuse me?_

_Mathis: Don't think I stuttered, but I'm happy to repeat. (louder, now sounding like he was talking to someone hard of hearing; and popping almonds, of course). How does the two-guard rule work when one of the guards is fucking the vampire? Does one guard fuck while the other serves as lookout? Do they take turns fucking the vampire? If they both fuck the vampire at the same time, what then?_

_Dr. Overlark: I'm sorry, but fraternization between prisoners and –_

_Mathis: - vampires is not allowed, yes. Yes, I know. I know what's in the manual. You know how lawsuits happen? When people don't follow the manual. And people always don't follow the manual. So again, how does the two-guard rule work when one of the guards … or both, or both at the same time … is fucking the vampire? What's your procedure for dealing with those scenarios?_

_Sarah Newlin: I … I'm sorry, Troy. We all want to be helpful and demonstrate good will. We really do. But I think I speak for everyone when I say we don't understand. First you had us prepare a procedures manual, and now you want us to prepare protocols for situations that aren't in the manual?_

_Governor Burrell: I agree with Sarah, Troy. We understand that you need to show value. We all do, but quit making us jump through these goddamn hoops._

_Mathis wore that familiar smirk as he took this in. In mannerism and dress, he started to remind Dr. Vince less of Dieter from Saturday Night Live and more of Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jeff Goldblum's character from the movie Jurassic Park. _

_Mathis's visual presentation – his whole look, his rapid way of speaking, the constant stream of doubts flowing torrentially from his lips like the Mississippi River ... all reminded Dr. Vince of the fictional character. And that is how the good doctor, in his mind, came to see Vamp Camp as a real life Jurassic Park._

_Mathis: First, I'm not here to show value._

_Burrell tried the friendly but frank approach._

_Governor Burrell: Now, come on, Troy. We know you're getting paid a quarter million a year for this consulting gig. Your bosses don't feel they're gettin' their money's worth if you don't come back with problems, I know. But cut us a fuckin' break. Please._

_Mathis: If you've done your research, Governor, then you know I don't need the money. I'm getting the fee because if I don't charge the fee, people waste my time. I'm here for the curiosity factor._

_Dr. Overlark: What does that mean, Dr. Mathis?_

_Mathis: It means that despite my years on Wall Street advising hedge funds, which has made me a very rich man, by the way. And as you can see from my wardrobe and my diet, I'm a simple man and I don't spend a lot of money. So yes, I'm a made Wall Street man. I sold out academia for the dollars. But I still have the mathematician in me. I still like to consider probabilities, and see what happens when the Black Swan comes swooping down on you hapless, tiny insects._

_Everyone frowned. Swans could be bitches sometimes, but nobody really feared them. Maybe Mathis was euphemistically referring to vampires. Maybe he was fucking crazy._

_Governor Burrell: Okay, I'll bite. What black swan? A ballerina?_

_Mathis: No, not Natalie Portman. Although she is cute in a pixie kind of way. And she fucked Mila Kunis in that movie. Well, not really._

_Dr. Vince watched, amused. Everyone looked confused as to what the hell Mathis was going on about. Governor Burrell was checking his watch, signaling an impending exit._

_Mathis: I'm talking about the book Black Swan, by Nassim Taleb. It posits that almost none of the monumental, life-altering events that happen to us on both a personal and national level, are the results of predictable events. This goes against every major probability theory, from financial planning to sports betting to how we live our lives. No. No. History has shown that almost every major life-altering event happens because of something we didn't plan for, something big and unexpected that we never saw coming._

_Dr. Overlark: What the fuck does that mean?_

_Mathis: It means nobody plans for the Spanish Inquisition. But when it happens nothing is ever the same after that._

_Governor Burrell: Okay, then if that's the case why are we doing all these procedure manuals and protocols? And now you want us to plan for shit that isn't even in the procedure manuals? Why do you have us planning for the Spanish Inquisition if nobody can plan for it?_

_Mathis: Ah, very good question. The answer is we're not planning for the big, unpredictable thing. I'm trying to get you to plan for unpredictability itself._

_Sarah Newlin: I'm sorry. I have another meeting. We don't have time for a bullshit philosophical discussion._

_Everyone rose to leave. Dr. Mathis popped cocoa-dusted almonds and spoke loud enough to drown out the rustling of papers and moving chairs._

_Mathis: I know you all think my goal is to infuse negativity into everything you do. Well, you're wrong. My goal is to make you absolutely, positively scared shitless. I want you to have nightmares every night about vampires eating you, coming up on you from around a corner while your back is turned. Because if that's not the level of fear you carry with you when you walk into this facility, every single day, then you'll get lulled into a false sense of security._

_You'll think you're in control, when you aren't and you never will be. As we speak, somewhere in this building, a guard is fucking a pretty vampire. He thinks he's fucking, but he's falling in love. She's telling him how much she loves him, and he's thinking how much she's like a human. Better than a human, because she's actually having sex with him. Maybe he'll plan to rescue her and take her out of this shithole. Maybe he'll tell her how building access codes work._

_Right now, a lazy security guard is cutting corners on checking people in. He's getting comfortable with the idea that he can sight check to determine if someone's a vampire or a human. He's poised for a fuck up._

_Right now, you all are prepping for a meeting with Big Pharma, who's going to tell you you're sitting on a billion dollars right now in scientific applications, in their case drugs, but you need to ramp up soon. What could go wrong? You've got sooooo many controls. By the time they're done fucking your ears with promises of being the next Bill Gates, you'll be convinced you've got too many controls. And there's all that money to be made. _

_Dr. Overlark: Troy, calm down. Come on down to the lab. We keep medication there. We're mostly men in here, but I'm sure we've got something for that time of the month. You seem to be having some problems with your mangina._

_Dr. Vince noted with no joy that he wasn't the only one in the room who thought Mathis was gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Mathis wasn't moved by the insult. He seemed to embrace it._

_Mathis: No thanks. My mangina gets me paid. It's fine. I like it just the way it is, sensitive to the touch and a little achy._

_Governor Burrell had heard enough, and had now moved from annoyed to pissed._

_Governor Burrell: No, Troy. You get paid to put systems controls in place. So control the fucking systems and keep your fucking fear mongering out of it._

**# # # # #**

_Everyone except the good doctor left the room. Dr. Mathis sat popping cocoa-dusted almonds. He looked amused. Dr. Vince was the last to get up from the table. He and Mathis were now alone. The almond popper regarded him, smiling. _

_Mathis: Have you taken a peak at those copulation studies? Vampires fucking? They do draw quite a crowd, don't they? All in the name of research, of course. Oooh, ahhh. That's how all of it starts. But then later there's the running and the screaming._

_Dr. Vince smiled weakly. Troy Mathis didn't know it, but he was hitting a little too close to home with his talk about security breaches resulting from sexual proclivities that violated official protocols._

_Mathis stood and offered Vince a cocoa-dusted almond. At first, the good doctor shook his head. No. But Mathis insisted with a good-natured smile, and reluctantly Dr. Vince took one. He sniffed it, then took a cautious bite. It was delicious. He took another. Mathis smiled and gave a look that said, "I told you they were good."_

_Mathis: You know, I've got skepticism built into my very being. Blame my parents. They named me Troy, after the city of Troy. Trojan War and all that. My mother and father are mathematicians, and so was my grandfather. They taught me to love numbers, and to distrust words, especially corporate contracts and protocols and verbal assurances that everything has been considered and planned for._

_Dr. Vince: That sounds interesting. My parents just named me Finn after an uncle with a bad knee._

_Mathis: Haha. Well, that sounds good, too. I notice that you never have much to say during these meetings._

_Dr. Vince: I'm the psychiatrist. I have enough trouble speaking on my own subject, let alone security._

_Mathis (giving Vince another dusted almond): No, no, no. You, my friend, have a lot to say about this subject. I know you do. In fact, I think you agree with me. You know vampires aren't the monsters these fucks are making them out to be. But you don't care. Because you have your own agenda, and it's not money._

_Dr. Vince: I'm sorry. I d-don't know what you're talking about._

_Mathis: You've treated vampires as patients, yes?_

_Dr. Vince: Yes._

_Mathis: Then you know they're not what this place claims they are. Hell, they know vampires aren't what they claim they are. They're not emotionless, hormone driven monsters. They just are what they are. No worse than some blood-sucking humans, including the ones who sit around this very table. _

_At least vampires need the blood to survive. Blood-sucking humans just like the taste of it. Isn't that right, doctor?_

_Dr. Vince: I … I don't know._

_Mathis: Of course you don't. Anyway, maybe some vampires are monsters. I think most of them aren't. But generally, my opinion is that as a group, they are calculating, and ever adapting. And they can't be controlled._

_Dr. Vince couldn't help himself as he regarded the real-life Ian Malcolm, standing right in front of him. He had to say it._

_Dr. Vince: You mean like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park?_

_Mathis's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He was so excited he shoved a handful of almonds into his mouth and chewed as he considered the analogy._

_Mathis: Yes. As a matter of fact, yes. Exactly like that. If you recall, the hunter in that movie was following the velociraptor, a female by the way. Actually, not "by the way." Because I think it's important that she's female._

_So the hunter is hunting the female velociraptor. That hunter was well trained. He was one of the smartest guys in the room. He knew what he was doing. Hell, he was wearing that big game hunting hat and those African safari cargo shorts for the sole purpose of showing all of us that he's the expert at hunting shit. Right?_

_Dr. Vince nodded. Yes._

_Mathis: And he was following that female velociraptor. The real sexy one with the killer eyes. Remember? She was his prey. He thought he was closing in on her as she lurked up ahead in the brush. Only she wasn't lurking up ahead. She doubled back, and attacked him from the side. And by the time he realized it, he was dead. Eaten._

_Mathis suddenly growled deep in his throat and clawed at Dr. Vince, which made Vince jump. Mathis laughed, shook his head and said, "Sorry, I couldn't resist."_

_Dr. Vince ate a cocoa-dusted almond. He was ready to leave, partly because he was freaked out. And partly because he didn't know what to say. Mathis blocked his exit._

_Mathis: You know why it's important that the velociraptor was female, Dr. Vince?_

_Dr. Vince: No._

_Mathis: Because this place is full of men. Testosterone-filled men, who think they're in control. And they're going to have lots of prisoners that are pretty and female. Pretty female vampires that no human out there in the great state of Louisiana considers human. No one with the right kind of power cares about them right now. What could be more wonderful for a staff full of men than pretty females prisoners with no rights? Prison rules always give the guards and staff the right to fuck the prisoners._

_Happens in human prisons all the time, all over the world. But these aren't human prisoners. They're velociraptors. Doesn't matter, though. Because horny men fool themselves into thinking that because the prey is female, she's less dangerous. _

_They'll tell themselves she's nurturing. Now why they think that inclination would extend to a rapist, or a perverted little opportunist like yourself, I don't know. But men with hard-ons will tell themselves anything, I guess. Even if the female velociraptor shows herself to be calculating and heartless, they'll pursue her anyway. They can't help themselves. I thank god for my mangina._

_Dr. Vince: Maybe you're right, about men. S-some men._

_Dr. Mathis kept dispensing advice and cocoa-dusted almonds._

_Dr. Mathis: Oh, I know I'm right. And it goes for some women, too. Especially in a women's prison. But you men will like that, too. I'm sure._

_And another thing. You see what happened in Jurassic Park? For most of the time, it looked like the poor dinosaurs were in prison with the ruthless theme park guards and their secured gates. But then, a pudgy little turncoat got the bright idea to put what he wanted ahead of the interests of his employer, and he turned off the electrical system, which let the dinosaurs run free. Do you remember him, the one who tried to make big money off the dinosaur DNA by smuggling it out in a fake can of shaving cream?_

_Mathis was still eating almonds and smiling, but the smile looked feral. And Dr. Vince couldn't shake the feeling that Mathis was referring to him when he sneered about the pudgy little turncoat in Jurassic Park._

_Dr. Vince (a little nervous): Y-yes. I r-r-remember. _

_Mathis: And then suddenly it was like the dinosaurs were saying to the humans, "You thought I was locked in here with you, but it's you who's locked in here with me." You know what that pudgy little shitbag in Jurassic Park was, Dr. Vince?_

_Dr. Vince: N-n-no._

_Mathis: A black swan._

_Dr. Vince: Oh?_

_Mathis: Oh yes. You know what you look like to me, Dr. Vince? A black swan. This place was so desperate to hire anyone breathing that they didn't do background checks. But I did. And I found out a lot of interesting things about you._

_Dr. Vince stayed quiet. He held, suspended in mid-air, a cocoa-dusted almond._

_Mathis: Yes, lots of interesting things. Like a suspension from medical practice and a long stint of joblessness. And lots of rumors about you liking pretty female patients, especially blondes. Hello Kitty! _

_I may have a mangina, but at least I don't stroke it under the conference table during a meeting. Can't say the same for you and your little one-eyed monster, can we?_

_Dr. Vince kept quiet, but he was visibly sucking in air._

_Mathis: Ah yes. You do a wonderful job at breathing. That's why they hired you, isn't it? Look, I'm not someone who wants to ruin a man's money game. Far be it from me. Me of all people, right? I'm Mr. Wall Street. Gordon Gekko. Greed is good … all that shit, right?_

_Like I said, I'm just here for the carnage and the screams. So you actually help me out in that department. So maybe I should just say, "Keep doing what you do?"_

_Mathis stared at Vince hard, while he popped almonds. Dr. Vince calmed himself down and eventually managed to say something that sounded nonchalant and a bit controlled._

_Dr. Vince: I … I don't know what you're talking about. _

_Mathis: Of course you don't. Just remember this when you're chasing after that beautiful, female velociraptor. And knowing your past, she'll probably be blonde. 'Cause I know you're going to do it. When you're hunting her, and you think you've got her in your sights, that'll be the moment she surprises you. She's gonna rush your left flank and eat your little perverted ass._

_Mathis grinned and gave Dr. Vince one last almond for the road._

_Dr. Vince: Look, I told you. I … I had some issues, yes. Okay. But they had to do with an article I wrote. I didn't fill out the proper paperwork._

_Mathis had taken a step back and was smiling warmly now. He had buried the feral grin back wherever it came from. His tone was once again amiable, not threatening._

_Mathis: Yes. Yes. Yes. It always comes back to paperwork, and words, doesn't it. But like I told you, I was raised from a boy not to trust words. Except maybe those. I trust those words._

_Dr. Mathis pointed to a sign someone had taken the time to frame and post on the conference room wall. It was a well-done but makeshift poster showing a picture of Bruce Willis playing Dr. Malcolm Crowe and a young Haley Joel Osment playing Cole Sear in the movie The Sixth Sense. A caption underneath the photo paraphrased a famous quote from the film:_

_I see dumb people_

_Walking around like regular people_

_They only see what they want to see_

_They don't know they're dumb_

_They're everywhere_

_And many of them …_

_WORK HERE!_

_Mathis: You know what, Dr. Vince. The mathematician in me tells me that before this is all over, the vampires are going to be singing those words like an aria._

**_# # # # #_**

Thanks to that fateful Summer's day conversation with Dr. Troy Mathis, the good Dr. Vince had repeated nightmares in which he was chased by black swans and eaten by female velociraptors. He still had those terrible dreams. And in those dreams, he was always the pudgy little turncoat in _Jurassic Park _who hid the vials of dinosaur DNA in the fake shaving cream can. He was always eaten alive, by a beautiful female velociraptor. She was blonde. Or, as it would probably be in real life, a beautiful, blonde female vampire.

Dr. Vince couldn't shake the feeling that Mathis was some kind of demented, cocoa-dusted almond eating, Germanesque, gay prophet come to warn him that it wasn't too late to change his ways. It wasn't too late to resist his primal but perverted urges. But deep down, Dr. Vince had already resigned himself to be a slave to those urges. That was, after all, a big reason why he was so excited, literally, to land this job.

Dr. Vince hadn't planned to be in a place like this when he graduated from Yale Medical School, but then he also hadn't planned on being plagued with the sexual cravings that drove him to make irrational, career-killing choices. The round-faced doctor had the white beard and the rotundity that signified gravitas in men his age.

By now, Dr. Vince should have been published in at least 300 peer-reviewed journals. He should have had a lucrative private practice in at least one major city, maybe two. He should have been one of those talking heads that gets paid scads of money to drone on and on as a guest expert on any number of cable news networks. He should have been so much more than what he was.

But unfortunately for Dr. Vince, a mostly absent father (_due to divorce_) and a repressive, despondent mother (_due to depression over said divorce_) resulted in lots of time left alone as a teenager. Said time left alone led to accidental encounters involving a pair of fishnet stockings (_his mother's_), a vacuum cleaner (_don't ask_) and a pair of binoculars (_left behind by his father as he fled the family home pre-divorce_). These, and several other interesting artifacts, had given the good doctor unexpected sexual tastes that tended toward, shall we say … the exotic.

It wasn't as if the good doctor couldn't function in society. He was married after all, thankfully to an asexual wife who didn't care that he worked nights and slept at work most days. He nevertheless wore his wedding ring like a badge of honor. He liked the squeeze of it around his portly ring finger. Marriage signified normalcy … boring, average banality. It was the opposite of being a habitual masturbator.

To Dr. Vince, his sexual predilections really weren't anything to write home about. They were almost exclusively voyeuristic. How much harm could a person do when they didn't touch anyone except themself? Apparently a lot, at least according to three state psychiatric boards, which had barred Dr. Vince from practicing medicine and seeing patients for several years.

Dr. Vince spent years before his career implosion anticipating the infraction that would finally be his downfall. There were so many possibilities. But as luck would have it, the act that did him in hadn't been anything he'd ever worried about, because it wasn't directly related to his sexual perversions and their spillover into his professional life.

His downfall wasn't the impromptu massage he'd given one of his patients, a beautiful blonde housewife who was going through a painful divorce, during a particularly emotional therapy session. The woman reminded Dr. Vince of his mother, and he suddenly felt the need to comfort her. As the massage turned intimate and clearly crossed a line, Dr. Vince stopped, but not before he alienated and eventually lost his patient. The woman was a free roaming indictment, if anyone ever bothered to talk to her. Or if she tried to report him in some way. To his knowledge, she never did.

Nor was it the frequent masturbatory sessions in which he engaged during the minutes between certain appointments with especially alluring patients. Sometimes he was overbooked, and only had five minutes to spare. He was positive his personal assistant had caught him on more than one occasion, but she never gave any indication that she knew. Bless her; but he was also paying her 30% more than she could make anywhere else, partly because she was efficient, but mostly because she was an attractive blonde with lots of spunk and attitude.

Dr. Vince liked beautiful blondes with spunk and attitude. So his personal assistant knew plenty of his dirty secrets, and she never talked. She was priceless. But then again, showering someone with the right amount of money has a magical way of dousing his or her conscience.

Nor was it his careful positioning of an underage patient's legs during a hypnosis session, such that he could see perfectly just the right amount of her underwear. He remembered the girl, and her underwear, so clearly. They were lacy, powder pink panties, stamped with _Hello Kitty._ His assistant _had _walked in on him that day, then promptly turned around and walked out. A great salary really was hard to give up.

Dr. Vince had engaged in so many acts that could have been that fatal, embarrassing, career-ending infraction; and yet none of them were. No, the thing that did him in was something so pedestrian, so non-sexual, as to be ironic and laughable; had it not been so tragic, that is. Now that he thought of it, it was a _Black Swan._

The good doctor had written an article for _Psychology Today _about one of his clients, a female fetishist who liked having rough sex with strangers on trains. This was nothing unusual. In fact, such articles were the province of psychiatrists hoping to make a name for themselves.

Dr. Vince's article was insightful, including profound observations about the train sex being the patient's attempts to resist the stagnation she perceived in her professional career and marriage. The roughness of the sex gave the patient a sense of abandon and ironically, control, neither of which she felt in any other aspect of her life. The article was edgy enough that it got major hits on the internet, and made its way into the mainstream press.

Unfortunately, Dr. Vince failed to obtain the necessary medical releases and included too much identifying information about the patient. The patient's coworkers believed the story was about her, and in fact it was. The patient lost her boring but lucrative career as a partner in a major accounting firm. She sued, and Dr. Vince lost his medical career just as it was taking off.

Perhaps it was rough (_pun bitterly intended_) justice for Dr. Vince. He should have gone down for any number of sexually perverted acts involving his patients. So what if the thing for which he actually lost his career was essentially poor paperwork?

To her credit, his wife stuck with him. But then wives can understand poor paperwork a lot easier than masturbatory peeks at the pink _Hello Kitty _panties of underage patients. The state boards of psychiatry, however, weren't as forgiving as his wife. They viewed Dr. Vince's oversight concerning his rough train sex patient to be a major violation, one that warranted five years' suspension from medical practice.

The good doctor knew that the board had interviewed some of his patients in making its decision regarding his punishment. He strongly suspected that those boards had heard rumors about his sexual perversions, and factored that information into their decision to suspend him. In fact, he didn't exactly need to wonder about it, since one of the board members had alluded to his "interesting manner of relating" to his patients.

Dr. Vince's suspension from medical practice was followed by two years of required work in a managed, collaborative environment. Basically, the boards wanted someone to watch over him for two years to make sure he didn't fuck up again. But finding a team to join had proven futile. No medical practice wanted to hire a potential liability, no matter how brilliant he was.

So Dr. Vince, unemployed but still brilliant, was a man nobody wanted to hire looking for a job that nobody wanted. The good doctor's search had proven impossible, until he learned about the LAVTF position. As it turned out, Dr. Vince was the perfect fit for the job. He was brilliant and creative enough to run a major, innovative psychiatric program; and LAVTF didn't care about medical releases or patients' rights. His patients would be vampires, and vampires didn't have any rights. LAVTF also didn't care about nasty rumors about Dr. Vince's kinky sex fixations. Vampires _were _kinky sex fixations.

Governor Burrell had tried to hire world-class professional staff, but medical doctors with unsullied reputations wouldn't touch LAVTF jobs with a ten-foot pole. The vampire experiments made them extremely uncomfortable. The investigations into vampire physiology reeked of Nuremberg research on Jewish concentration camp detainees during World War II and Tuskegee syphilis experiments on poor black patients in the Deep South during the 1970s. The torturing and humiliation of Level 4 vampires had Guantanamo stamped all over it, and Gitmo was way too fresh in too many peoples' minds. Many professionals wouldn't work for LAVTF for any amount of money.

History had proven that people often develop a sudden conscience regarding torture taking place right before their eyes. And when that happens, a bright light eventually gets beamed onto the atrocities; and the doctors and other "good soldiers" who followed orders and participated in said atrocities become _persona non grata_. They are vilified and shamed. For now, no respectable doctors with careers and legacies to think about wanted to be on the wrong side of history.

Dr. Vince had no career, and his professional legacy was already sullied beyond repair, so the LAVTF job was just perfect for him. Not only did the position pay extremely well, especially for Louisiana, but it gave Dr. Vince unfettered leeway to freely explore his exotic sexual cravings in a way he had never before been able to do. Nobody cared if he violated the modesties or rights of vampires. They weren't human, and most of the undead detainees were destined to die … more accurately, be terminated, since vampires were already dead.

When humans were his clients, Dr. Vince easily evaded detection. The sweaters helped. He also had perfected a warm, casual but commanding demeanor. He smiled a lot to show he was accepting and nonjudgmental of the patient. Dr. Vince gesticulated often when asking questions or making a point, and he was always sure to wave his left hand back and forth a lot, ensuring that the patient could see his wedding ring.

Vince's wedding ring, don't forget, was his badge of normalcy. It told the patient, "Someone legitimated me. Someone is willing to have normal, boring sex with me. Why would I need to touch myself immediately after you leave my office?"

Dr. Vince's ability to remain clandestine changed dramatically when he began treating vampires. The undead had absolutely no trouble at all reading Dr. Vince like an open book. They saw him for exactly what he was, a skeevy little pervert. The good doctor was initially worried about being exposed, until he realized that vampire opinions carried no weight in a concentration camp for vampires. The good doctor relaxed, and started to be … more himself.

None of his vampire patients knew Dr. Vince's first name, which was Finn. None of them cared. Some unfortunate female vamp prisoner had given him the nickname Dr. "Perv" Vince, and it stuck, for good reason. Dr. Vince's perverted nature was apparent to anyone with eyes, or at least anyone with "vampire" eyes.

The good doctor's perversion glinted and ornamented him like exquisitely cut Angolan diamonds. And like such blood diamonds, it was apparent that many innocent, much weaker victims had paid an unthinkable price for Vince's adornments.

His wife, who after more than twenty years of marriage knew something about his sexual idiosyncrasies, had once or twice suggested that Dr. Vince seek psychiatric counseling for his "condition." Each time the good doctor angrily put the bitch in her place, and she dropped the subject.

Besides, Dr. Vince had already conducted his own self-assessment ages ago. He knew exactly what drove him and why. On the surface of things, his cravings manifested themselves as sexual. Any doctor from a third tier medical school would examine his family structure, his parents' divorce, and his absent father. That same doctor would theorize that Dr. Vince deliberately stifled and delayed his own sexual development when he was a teenager to be a surrogate partner for his depressed, lonely mother, or some similar bullshit. Dr. Vince knew this was all wrong.

The good doctor wasn't at all attracted to just any pretty face or hot body. And notwithstanding the housewife he had inappropriately massaged, he didn't fantasize about his mother. Vince's disinterest in sex with the objects of his desire had nothing to do with repression or fear, but rather his _particular_ interest in the erotic exchange.

Dr. Vince wanted _secrets_, the more layered and evolved the better. His mother's fishnet stocking fascinated him because he had found them hidden deep inside the bottom drawer of her dresser, along with nude pictures commemorating some secret, hurried tryst with a man he didn't know.

The vacuum cleaner was, well … don't ask. Let's just say, a certain model of hand held Hoover Dustette was his very good friend, and remains so today. It's blades were a mere fifteen centimeters from the inlet. It was, quite literally, fucking with danger.

The binoculars fascinated him because he realized that he could peer into windows with a zoom lens and see everything as if he was standing right next to it. The windows of a suburban home were like windows to the soul, at least if the occupants didn't know someone was looking. Peering into windows was how Dr. Vince made the startling teenage discovery that none … zero, zilch … of his neighbors were anything like what they pretended to be out in the world.

No one knew about the neighbor who beat his wife. Or the other neighbor who was a secret pill popper; and to think, she was always so sanctimonious when she gossiped and gardened. Or the neighbor who was addicted to underground S&M porn. The list of his neighbors' dirty secrets was endless. Young Dr. Perv would gleefully smile to himself as his neighbors put on a show of demure innocence when out on their front lawns, because he knew their deepest truths.

And what better occupation for a man who loved other people's secrets than psychiatrist. Dr. Vince excelled in medical school because he was highly motivated, and almost always aroused by the prospect of finding the perfect patient. This "perfect patient" had captivated Dr. Vince from his early days in medical school. He knew her characteristics like the back of his hand. He said "her" because he was mostly attracted to women and their secrets; although there were a few men whose secrets had enticed him.

Dr. Perv Vince's perfect female patient was highly intelligent, physically beautiful, at least _slightly_ dangerous and preferably _very_ dangerous, complicated, and layered in deep, painful secrets. The good doctor had excitedly designed every aspect of the LAVTF therapy program with the singular goal of meeting as many potentially perfect patients as possible. For example, he had the authority to conduct therapy on any vampire he wanted. He deliberately constructed a test to identify what he called "Level 1" vampires because this immediately screened out stupid or immature subjects.

Unlike his juvenile colleagues in Dr. Overlark's group who conducted the copulation studies, Dr. Vince had absolutely no interest in watching stupid vampires have sex. The good doctor failed to see why this would be remotely interesting, let alone arousing.

Level 1 vampires were highly intelligent, and almost all vampires were slightly dangerous. Thus, Dr. Vince's intake process assured him right off the bat that he would be seeing patients who already possessed two of his five criteria. From that point, the good doctor conducted daily perusals of Vamp Camp's newest prisoners, picking out the most physically attractive Level 1 females. He was always on the lookout for blondes.

It didn't take Dr. Vince long to select out Violet. She was intelligent, beautiful, and dangerous enough to take the spot of _de facto_ Vamp Camp leader. Not bad at all. But still, there was something missing. First, she wasn't blonde; although this wouldn't bar her from being deemed perfect if she evinced all five of Dr. Vince's criteria. But Violet was lacking something not at all related to hair color. She didn't have that glint in her eye that Dr. Vince looked for. She didn't seem at all complicated or layered in secrets.

But who the hell was he kidding? Dr. Vince often mused about his perfect patient, his perfect prey … but the truth was that he had never actually encountered a patient who met all _five _of his criteria. The most characteristics he'd encountered in a single being was four, so he knew how rare it was to find what he was searching for. He wasn't even sure it existed … until the day Pamela Swynford de Beaufort walked into his life, that is.

From the moment Dr. Vince laid eyes on Pamela de Beaufort, he tingled all over. It was a sensation he rarely got, but it was never wrong. That sensation told him Pamela de Beaufort would have at least four of his criteria that marked perfection, and she might have all five. She might be … just might be … his perfect patient, his dream personified.

Dr. Vince's body tingling was kind of like the mild pain his Uncle Finn got in his knee just before a rain. It didn't matter if the sun was blazing outside. If Uncle Finn suddenly got knee pain, it was going to rain within twenty-four hours. And it always did.

Just like his uncle with the weather forecasting knee, Dr. Vince saw Pamela de Beaufort and his entire body tingled, some places more than others. The tingling told Dr. Perv that this one was special. She was a Level 1 vampire – highly intelligent. She was stunningly beautiful. The good doctor also noted that the beautiful blonde had even somehow managed to retain her makeup, suggesting that she was craftier than the average Level 1.

Dr. Vince gazed at Pam on his video screen, watching intently as the evil looking blonde sat at her white table in the GenPop holding area delivering death stares to all the other occupants, including Violet. When Dr. Vince saw Violet tread warily across the room (a room the powerful brunette supposedly owned), sizing Pam up, he knew that Pam was also more dangerous than normal.

Pam de Beaufort was highly intelligent, stunningly beautiful, and extremely dangerous. The only questions left were was she complicated and did she have painful, deeply buried secrets? The tingling told the good doctor that just as Pam excelled concerning the first three criteria, she likely was off the charts on the other two.

Dr. Vince normally had a schedule for conducting therapy sessions. In addition to being addicted to voyeuristic masturbation, Dr. Vince was normally compulsive about scheduling. And given his history of being suspended for failing to obtain required medical releases, he was also a stickler for documentation and paperwork.

As was typical, the good doctor's schedule had been set for this night more than two days ago. But the more that Dr. Vince gazed at Pamela de Beaufort on the personal monitor in his office, the more he became filled with anticipation. He needed to meet with her.

Dr. Vince decided to fuck his schedule. Schedules are for routine nights and routine patients. When the patient of your career, possibly your lifetime, walks through your door, you get over your obsessive-compulsive disorder about the goddamn schedule. You treat your dream patient like the rarity she is.

When you meet the sun, you and every other insignificant object instinctively revolves around her. Before he ever met her in person, the doctor knew that Pam de Beaufort was an incomprehensibly bright star in a dark sea of other duller, beings. He wanted … he needed to bask in her light. It was an odd way to think of a vampire, as giving off light, but Dr. Vince didn't question what he saw. He knew it was real. And so, Dr. "Perv" Vince decided that he shouldn't and couldn't wait two more days to meet with and revolve around the sun.

He needed to see this very special vampire. He needed to see her tonight. The good doctor shifted his appointments to fit Pamela Swynford de Beaufort into a slot. He thought about it and reserved two slots for her.

Dr. Vince wanted time with vampire Pam, to take her in and savor the experience of being in her presence. That was the wonderful thing about conducting therapy sessions with vampire prison detainees. They couldn't complain about sudden changes to appointments or meetings arranged on short notice.

Dr. Perv adjusted his crotch more than once and tapped his foot anxiously as he pressed the little intercom button next to his therapist's chair. He pushed away the annoying images of black swans and hungry velociraptors.

The good doctor cleared his throat, practicing his relaxed and commanding voice as he said, "Can you bring me Ms. Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, please."

**Next Chapter: **Tara Does Some Thinking and Meets Up With Jessica in the GenPop Holding Area

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Disclaimer: **I enjoy giving details of my musings about various topics that come up in a chapter. Some people like them, and some find it pulls them out of the story. If you're the latter, please don't read any further. What follows in the end notes is nerdy and at times a little demented; not because of me (I don't think), but because I'm writing about True Blood. Which come to think of it, if you're reading True Blood fan fics, you probably don't mind reading stuff that's just a little strange and demented.

(1) Those of you who are reading my other story, _Epic Love Story,_ know I love movies, and quote them often. There are a few movie quotes in this chapter.

When I, the author, muse that Dr. Vince's sexual proclivities tend "toward the, shall we say … exotic," I'm quoting the character Hannibal Lecter (played by Anthony Hopkins), describing the character Buffalo Bill (played by Ted Levine) to Agent Clarice Starling (played by Jodie Foster) in the movie _Silence of the Lambs._

When Mathis observes that "nobody plans for the Spanish Inquisition," he's paraphrasing the character of "James" played by John Hannah speaking to Helen, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, in the movie _Sliding Doors._

Many of the Jurassic Park quotes are cited in the chapter itself. Additionally, when Dr. Troy Mathis observes "Oooh, ahhh. That's how all of it starts. But then later there's the running and the screaming," he's quoting the character Dr. Ian Malcolm, played by Jeff Goldblum, in the movie _Jurassic Park._

When Mathis envisions the dinosaurs in _Jurassic Park _telling the humans, "You thought I was locked in here with you, but it's you who's locked in here with me," he's paraphrasing the character Rorschach, played by Jackie Earle Haley, in _Watchmen._

And, of course, the sign on the conference room wall paraphrases the quote from the character Cole Sear, played by Haley Joel Osment in _The Sixth Sense_, but instead of seeing dead people, the employees of LAVTF Vamp Camp see dumb people. I didn't make that quote up, by the way. It hangs over the desk of an administrative assistant at my job. There are some days when a co-worker approaches me with a zombie-like expression. I say, "What's wrong?" They drone, "I see dumb people." I personally have never used that quote to reference any of my brilliant colleagues. (smiling).

The observation that someone is gay, quickly followed by the caveat, "Not that there's anything wrong with that," comes from Episode 57 of Seinfeld, which is appropriately titled, "The Outing."

(2) A good friend of mine, who actually bears a striking resemblance to and dresses like Dr. Troy Mathis (except my friend's black framed glasses aren't tinted yellow and his hair is brown, not black) is the neighborhood-destroying crack dealer who introduced me and several neighbors and friends to cocoa-dusted almonds at a party one night. We have never recovered. This handsome destroyer of lives swears the dusted almonds are healthy, but we insist this can't be the case.

"They're coated in chocolate," I say.

He replies, "No, they're not. They're _dusted _with _cocoa_. There's a difference."

Whatever. It's like arguing the differences between two variants of the same highly addictive drug. We say he's dealing crack. He insists it's more akin to high-grade cocaine. If the enticed user is hopelessly addicted at almond number one, most of us fail to see the materiality of the distinction.

(3) Those who are reading my other story also know quite well that one of my favorite things about writing is research. I try, whenever possible, to make the facts and depictions that I reference in a story authentically based in real life. I also love to share some of the finds from my research with readers in the end notes.

I crafted the profile of the good Dr. Vince using two primary sources. The first is HBO's docudrama, "The Girl," which explores Alfred Hitchcock's various obsessions, including a lifelong obsession with beautiful, icy blonde women (e.g., Janet Leigh, Kim Novak, Grace Kelly, Tippi Hedren, Eva Marie Saint, et al) as his perfect creative muses.

The second source was an accidental discovery made during a Google search as I looked for characteristics of sexually repressed middle-aged men. I must have been sidetracked to a truly dark corner of the internet, which often happens to me, but I digress. This particular trek into the weirdest parts of the World Wide Web brought me to several articles about repression and isolation. But then I happened upon a profile done by the British Journal of Medicine on middle-aged male medical patients who had repeated histories of penile injuries caused by vacuum cleaners.

The men all had similar injuries, and similar personal profiles – they were married to docile wives and middle-aged professionals. They had apparently developed a sexual fixation on hand held vacuum cleaners during their teenage years, and never lost it. I suppose once one picks up such a thing, it can be hard to put down, so to speak. But when I saw these articles and the profiles of these men, I said to myself, "This is Dr. Perv Vince."

I found little details associated with these studies oddly coincidental and riveting. For example, many of the men were vacuuming in the nude using the same model of hand held Hoover Dustette (at least that's the story they all told their medical doctors, who proceeded to tell the British Journal of Medicine). By the way, the Hoover Dustette was first brought to market in the 1930's; and since that time countless men and boys have discovered the joys of vacuuming in the nude. Who knew? Well … now I do and you do, whether you want to or not, thanks to the internet, doctors who tell their patients' secrets, and the British Journal of Medicine.

I have so many questions left unanswered. Like who knew so many men vacuumed in the nude, starting as soon as their wives leave home? It's a nice surprise for the wives to come home and find the house clean, but still.

What's so special about the Hoover Dustette that stands the test of time? Is there a secret website that tells everyone what model of hand held vacuum cleaner to buy for nude vacuuming? Probably.

And why were there several, not one … but several, studies on this particular problem of penile medical injuries caused by accidentally falling on Hoover Dustette vacuum cleaners while vacuuming (home alone while the wife is away shopping or some such) in the nude? And why do the majority of these injuries take place in the UK and Italy?

And who funded these studies?

Oh well. Some questions are best left unanswered, I suppose. I'm sorry if I traumatized any of you with my vision of Dr. Vince, but why should I suffer alone with this knowledge? I probably would have been more traumatized myself; except I was scrolling the British Journal of Medicine with one hand, and eating cocoa-dusted almonds with the other.

Anyway, you all are probably glad that I can't do any more research on this particular topic, because I have to move on to the next chapter about Tara. I promise there won't be any mention of Tara doing nude vacuuming with Hoover Dustettes. I'm sure that knowledge delights some, and disappoints others.


	4. Tara Thinks, Fights and Finds Jessica

**Is It Bad? (aka "F the Pain Away Reprise")**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

(1) Happy Sunday! List of novels that are approximately 50,000 words in length (from WikiWrimo, so take it for what it's worth):

_The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams (46,333 words)

_The Notebook_ by Nicholas Sparks (52,000 words)

_The Red Badge of Courage_ by Stephen Crane (50,776 words)

_The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald (50,061 words)

_Fight Club_ by Chuck Palahniuk

_Of Mice and Men_ by John Steinbeck

_Slaughterhouse-Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

_The Invisible Man_ by H. G. Wells

This chapter about Tara is over 55,000 words. So basically, this is a Tara Thornton novel. I'm not saying it's _The Great Gatsby_, but it should be hours and hours of pretty good reading. Enjoy!

(2) I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update this story, but I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Life, work, family, and my inability to stop writing all got in the way. This chapter started out small, then turned into my grand ode to Tara. Tara has been given such short shrift this season by the True Blood writers. I never thought I would be yearning for last season in terms of Tara's screen time. Nicole, Alcide's werewolf father, and Guard Number 3 have all been given more minutes than poor Tara. Okay, I'm exaggerating with the Guard Number 3 comment, but not by much.

I wish Tara was given just a bit more attention (a lot more actually), maybe a mere 90 seconds of screen time. Is that too much to ask? Alas, it doesn't look like it will happen this season, unless the season finale is the Pam and Tara show. Based on the promo, it won't be. So this is my way of giving Tara some serious words – more than 55,000. And don't worry, Pam's gonna get her share of words later on in this story, as well.

(2) I don't own the True Blood characters. If I did, Episode 5 would have looked like this.

(3) I really enjoy hearing readers' reactions. It motivates me and makes me smile. So I'd appreciate it immensely if you left me a little love, even if it's a sentence or two.

* * *

**Part I**

**Pam and Tara Arrive at LAVTF Vamp Camp**

**Chapter 4**

**_Tara Thinks, Fights, Makes New Friends, Practices Controlling Humans, Remembers Her Past and Meets Up With Jessica in GenPop_**

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara's Random Thoughts While Being Dragged Down the Halls of Vamp Camp_**

Is it bad that Tara Mae Thornton was currently contemplating slapping the asshole fuck of a guard who was roughly dragging her down a winding hallway of LAVTF Vamp Camp? Yes, actually, because acting first and thinking later had always been the shit that got Tara into trouble. But really, seriously, Tara knew this. She knew it better than anybody. After all, she _was_ the bitch that always suffered the goddamn consequences for her crazy unthinkin' shit, done half-cocked and in anger.

It's not like Tara didn't understand the law of cause and effect. She'd had more experience with that philosophical concept than most people.

_Cause:_ Slap your ass pattin' manager at the Super Sav-a-Bunch.

_Effect:_ No job.

Now, maybe the sexual harassin' bitch had it comin' for feelin' up on employee Tara's ass, but still. The point was … had Tara been in a less perpetually angry state of mind, perhaps she could have found a better way of handling the situation, a stern response that didn't involve walking off yet another job. Maybe there were better ways for Tara to deal with a lot of situations so that the person who ended up the most hurt wasn't always Tara.

But for Ms. Thornton, there seemed to be no middle ground, no compromise. It seemed always to be her doin' some shit. Or more to the point … reactin' to some shit, which then had the effect of putting her in deeper shit. Well, that wasn't entirely how it worked, either. Things were never that cut and dry. Maybe if they had been so simple and plain to see, then Tara wouldn't do so much of the shit that adversely affected other shit.

The problem was that most times cause and effect were separated by a period of elation. This bit of euphoria was sufficient to mute the full impact of the self-destructive shit Tara did. It was that interim karmic goodness that kept Tara from connecting dots and adding two plus two. Case in point, before the effects of having no job as a result of slapping her ass pattin' manager took hold in her conscious mind … and her bank account, Tara experienced the immense feeling of satisfaction that came from fuckin' a mothafucka up. There was often that.

This euphoria from fuckin' a mothafucka up lasted at least a few hours, sometimes days. It wasn't until the realization that no paycheck was comin' in and there was only stale Cheerios in the cupboard that the ultimate effect of having no job started to hit home. And when Tara contemplated going on yet another job interview and explaining why she couldn't obtain a reference from yet another prior employer, then the real depression sank in. _How many former employers had Tara worked for? _She couldn't remember.

More times than she could count, Tara had experienced this same cycle of doing self-destructive, stupid shit, feeling temporary elation, then getting hit with the consequent, stark reality of her self-imposed predicament. For a brief time, Sam Merlotte had saved her, just a little bit, from repeating that vicious cycle, at least when it came to gainful employment.

Sam had given Tara a much-needed job as a bartender, despite the fact that, as Lafayette so eloquently put it, "she should not be allowed to work in no sit-ee-a-tion where she had to actually interact with people."

_Fuck Lafayette_, Tara mused to herself. She was a damn good bartender. Okay, she was an alright enough bartender. She mixed pretty good drinks and she managed not to put her hands on anybody … too often. So her job "sit-ee-a-tion" at Merlotte's had been pretty damn good. But there was oh so much other non-job related shit for Tara to fuck up. And fuck that up she did.

Tara was in the middle of pulling and tussling with four LAVTF guards, but she couldn't help but feel a little bit of amusement, on the inside, when she thought of Lafayette and her together. She missed her cousin very much. Tara missed … being human, especially now, as she found herself imprisoned in whatever the fuck this place was. Her and LaLa was a subject to delve into at a later time, when she wasn't so preoccupied.

At the moment, Tara was busy resisting … _detainment, torture? … _whatever the fuck was about to be done to her. She had been in this goddamn place for less than an hour, and already she was pissed off and ready to get the fuck outta here.

Tara's raw survival instincts would normally have propelled her to figure some way out of this metallic shit hole, except that as soon as she entered its walls she felt her maker. That tiny but powerful hum in her chest pinged insistently, telling her that Pam was somewhere in this facility. Tara needed to get to her maker, and she knew she would eventually. So for now, Tara Mae Thornton was stayin' put, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

Before willingly giving herself up to LAVTF security forces, Tara had looked to Eric and asked him whether he was sure about them deliberately going into what was probably a vampire death camp. But hell, what had she thought he was going to do? Maybe Tara didn't know precisely what to expect from Eric, but the baby vampire had known Eric would do _something _to help Pam. Tara also knew that whatever Eric decided to do, she was going to follow him.

Tara and Eric stood before those anti-vamp security forces, distending their fangs so that the uniformed men would know without a doubt that they were vampires violating curfew. As Tara tamped down a hiss and raised her arms, she couldn't help but glance at Eric and marvel about how fucked up and crazy her life had become. Just a mere three weeks ago, or thereabouts, Eric and Tara were enemies. The fucker had tried to kill her. Hell, her maker had been trying to kill her, too. But save that shit for another time, as well.

The point was … there she was standing in alliance with Eric, the same vampire she had fought against in the conflict between Louisiana vampires and Marnie's Moon Goddess witches. Tara remembered the feral look in Eric's eyes when he was just about to rip her throat out. In some fairness, Tara had tried to stake Eric first, but he had started the confrontation by coming into Moon Goddess and attacking Marnie. And of course, this was the same vampire who had kidnapped and tortured her cousin, Lafayette. Now he was her vampire Grand Daddy. Now he was … _family._

But then again, why should any of this shit surprise Tara? She had a fucked up, dysfunctional human family, so why wouldn't she have an equally fucked up, dysfunctional vampire family? It actually would have been shocking if her vampire family _wasn't _fucked up. And Tara had the feeling that she was just seeing the tip of the iceberg when it came to how fucked up her new vampire family really was.

When she was still human, Tara's impression of Eric was that he was an entitled, self-absorbed asshole who thought he had the right to tell everybody else what the fuck to do. But heaven forbid anybody told his ass to do anything. The little that Tara knew about her vampire Grand Daddy confirmed her initial view of him.

Vampire Tara saw that Grand Daddy Eric loved to bark orders, but he never wanted to hear from anyone about shit, not even shit that was worth hearing or consistent with his own so-called rules. To her amazement, the women in Eric's life – Pam and Nora – seemed to constantly let him get away with that shit. Well, good for them.

Tara had made up her mind from jump that she wasn't taking any of Eric Northman's shit. Grand Daddy or no Grand Daddy … she didn't give a fuck. Tara didn't take people's shit for five minutes, and the prospect of signing on to that kind of disrespect for an eternity? No fuckin' way. Tara was initially a little surprised at Pam's level of deference toward Eric, but only a _little _surprised.

Tara had been around Pam for only little more than a week, but it was an intensive period of them being on their own private island of sorts. It had been just Tara and Pam, living and working closely together at Fangtasia. That week and change was enough time for Tara to begin to understand that the vampire her maker presented to the world and the person who she really was on the inside were two vastly different beings. Plus, Tara had an edge in knowing her maker. She had the bond.

Just as Tara had started to get used to the routine of Fangtasia, the increasingly not so unpleasant "every dayness" of just being around Pam, their world started crumbling, and quickly. The next thing Tara knew, the baby vamp had killed a vampire sheriff, her maker had taken the fall for her, and she was on a rescue mission to get her maker out of the Authority prison. Tara found herself riding to New Orleans in a truck with Eric, Eric's sister Nora (_How did that shit work again? She hadn't had time to ask.), _Sookie, and Jason, who for some reason had been acting like a crazy, racist asshole just begging to be put in his place.

Again, why should Tara be surprised by any of that shit? Her human life was one fucked up surprise after another. Why would her vampire life be any different? Maybe it was fuckin' Bon Temps. Who knows? All Tara knew was that even when she was human bad shit happened, and it happened in the blink of an eye. One minute she was drinkin' coffee and reminiscing in Sookie's kitchen, then the next minute a werewolf was shootin' her in the head in that same fuckin' kitchen.

So given all that, it was no surprise that the same shit happened to Tara as a vampire. One minute it was just baby vamp Tara and her maker Pam, in their own world at Fangtasia, a world that Tara was growing to like a helluva lot. The next minute, there was Nora and Eric suddenly thrown into the mix of their lives. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the reversion – like going back to childhood - that instantly took place with Pam when Eric returned.

Tara wasn't judgin'. She understood the phenomenon quite well. If Lettie Mae suddenly walked into this vampire prison right now, some part of Tara would feel and act like that scared, small child, yearning for her mother's love and attention. Tara understood the Pam/Eric dynamic. Didn't mean she had to like it.

It had only been a couple of nights as family, but so far Tara didn't like Eric. She detested his pompous arrogance and his "alpha male patriarch of the family do as I say and don't question me attitude." She hated the way he treated her maker, and most of all she hated that she was a baby vampire who wasn't strong enough to give Eric the thorough ass kicking he so very much deserved.

But … to Tara's surprise, while she didn't like Eric, she also _didn't hate him_, either. When Tara had first appeared to Eric as a vampire, with his blood literally running through her veins, the Viking had pronounced Tara to be family. He had instructed Nora to be nice to Tara because she was family. Apparently, those instructions didn't necessarily extend to Eric himself, so there was that shit. But still.

And when Tara was literally burning and writhing in pain from that UV bullet, it had been Eric who had taken it out when Pam couldn't calm down enough to do it. Tara remembered the feeling of being laid out on that table in Fangtasia, with Pam, Eric and Nora surrounding her, comforting, helping and holding her.

She remembered the physical pain, yes. But more than that, Tara remembered that feeling of being a part of something, something that she had wished for and tried to create with her human family for as long as she could remember. She liked that feeling of belonging, and she wasn't ashamed or too prideful to admit it to herself.

To her surprise, Tara felt that warmth and protection … and yes, love … _love … _with her new dysfunctional vampire family. Those feelings weren't on the surface. No. On the surface, there was Pam constantly barking shit at her and Eric being the ever-prickish asshole and Nora and Pam sniping at each other. But despite all of that surface shit, Tara felt that these vampires were her family. They belonged to her, and she belonged to them. She felt that deep down, which was where the shit counted anyway.

Tara came, over time, to feel that warmth from Pam, which is why she had killed for the caustic blonde and risked her life for her. The baby vamp was risking her life for her maker again at this very moment. She was doing it gladly, despite it not showing at the present time due to her pissed off state.

Tara had felt that warmth from Nora when the brunette held her down to remove that UV bullet, even though she didn't really know her at all. And yes, despite his fundamental asshole nature, Tara felt a feeling of belonging and care (_warmth was a stretch)_, even from Eric.

But maybe Eric's warmth was buried. (_Yeah, buried deep inside an asshole). _Tara didn't find the idea of warmth inside an asshole to be the most pleasing metaphor, but it was accurate, nonetheless. But it wasn't Eric's warmth or lack thereof, but rather the core belief that Eric cared about his family and would drop everything to save Pam, which made Tara go straight to him when the LAVTF took her maker.

On some level, it pleased and comforted the baby vamp to know that she was right about her pompous vampire Grand Daddy. She had accurately assessed him, both the bad and the not so bad. So maybe, in time, Tara's mixed feelings about Eric would change or morph into something better. (_Maybe, but only if Eric stops being such an asshole.) _For now, the shit was what it was. It wasn't great, but it wasn't exactly terrible.

Tara accepted that she now had a vampire family. She hadn't fully processed what that meant, but she accepted it. The only humans Tara had ever experienced that kind of belonging with were Gran Stackhouse, Sookie and Jason … and Lafayette, of course. But being a _de facto_ part of the Stackhouse family wasn't the same as if her Mama, Lettie Mae, had truly acted like her family. Gran Stackhouse's home cooking and lemonade was beyond delicious, but it never tasted as wonderful as the few home cooked meals Lettie Mae had prepared for her.

Tara still remembered with fondness the day last year when Lettie Mae surprised her with a sudden bout of sobriety and homemade hoecakes, cooked in bacon grease, no less. Of course the shit wasn't real. It never was. But for that one day, Tara held on to the hope … a hope she had allowed herself to get caught up in too many times before to count … that _this time_ would be different. It wasn't, of course. But just the same, Tara held on to that feeling of having a family with her Mama, a family that was all hers.

Tara knew that LaLa, Gran Stackhouse, Sookie and Jason loved her. But her connection to them had always felt like a makeshift puzzle that Tara had pieced together from so many spare parts. It was as if Tara had found two puzzle boxes, both with some of the pieces missing.

Both puzzles made a nature scene with a grassy knoll by a lake, but the scenes were different. Tara had combined those two different puzzle sets and crafted a single picture, whittling away at some pieces to make everything mesh together. Things fit, with a little effort, and the picture she made was pretty enough, but Tara could still see the unnatural demarcations between the pieces.

And there was Sam, this separate one-off piece of vanilla, sun-kissed sky that Tara pressed against the outer edges of that makeshift family portrait. That lone piece didn't exactly fit, but it kind of belonged, and beautified the whole Tara-made landscape just the same.

Lafayette. Gran Stackhouse. Sookie. Jason. Sam. Tara could still see and feel the makeshift aspect of the whole thing, but it was the best she had for a long ass time. It was pretty damn good, and she was thankful for it.

But there were those times when LaLa was off fuckin' god knows who or what, and Sookie was off on some crazy ass vampire tangent. There were those times when Lettie Mae was asleep on the couch and drunk out of her mind (which was most times), so gone that Tara felt alone in the house.

It was during those times that Tara became acutely aware of her own isolation and loneliness. It was during those times that Tara wished she was a special part of something bigger than herself. Tara wished for her own involved, mostly sane, caring family, maybe even a special someone to fiercely love who loved her back in the same, fierce way.

Tara had once felt so alone, so desperate to feel like she truly belonged to a family … a _loving_ family of her own … that she allowed herself to be seduced by Maryann, the crazy ass maenad who wreaked havoc on Bon Temps, and her life.

And what had Maryann told her? _You summoned me? _

To this day, Tara didn't understand how she possibly could have done that. Maryann said it was the power of Ms. Jeannette's (_rest her soul) _fake exorcism ritual, whatever the fuck that meant. But she also seemed to be saying there was something …mystical … about Tara personally. Then again, Maryann talked a lot of shit, so Tara didn't trust anything she said.

Despite all of the madness brought on by Maryann, the one good thing the maenad brought with her had been Eggs. _Eggs. _

Tara felt a stabbing sensation in what used to be her heart. Tara still held onto what she felt for Eggs. But ultimately, Tara distrusted her entire reality during the period she was within Maryann's orbit. Tara was so overtaken by Maryann's influence that she couldn't allow herself to believe anything she had experienced during that time, not even her feelings for Eggs.

At the time, Tara believed Eggs was the first true love she had ever known. But now, she didn't know whether any of it was real. _I mean, fuck … Jane Bodehose was so drunk on Maryann's maenad energy that she cut off her own finger and fucked Mike Spencer._ Tara didn't know which one of those acts was more hideous.

So taking away the myth that was Maryann and discounting Lafayette as a given in the family department, Adele Stackhouse and the home she gave Tara to share with Sookie and Jason was the realest family Tara had. But it was never quite complete, through no fault of Adele.

Gran Stackhouse had certainly never done anything to make Tara feel unwelcome. In fact, the matriarch of the Stackhouse family had gone out of her way to make Tara feel comfortable and loved. Tara could still smell the home cooking and taste the sweet lemonade.

The scent of fresh cut grass on a summer's day still brought back all those memories of lying in Sookie's backyard, basking in the sun. _The sun. _Tara felt a pang of sadness at the thought of the sun, but she pushed it away. More thoughts for another time.

Besides, Gran Stackhouse was like the sun walking around on earth, warming Tara, giving her impossible brightness in an otherwise dimly lit existence. Gran was more like a mother to Tara than her own mother, her birth mother. And then suddenly, Gran was gone. Even now, the thought of that loss stung. _Movin' on from that shit. _Adele was such a formidable presence in Tara's life that she told Sookie if there was a heaven (and Tara didn't believe there was), Adele was surely there.

_Sookie. _Of course, there was Sookie, her best friend. Sookie, and Lafayette, had turned her into a vampire, into one of the things she hated most. _Don't wanna think about that shit right now, either. _

Tara filed the topic of being turned into a vampire by her cousin and best friend away in the same folder as Gran dying, Pam trying to kill her when she was human, her strained relationship with Lafayette, and the sun. It was yet another unpleasant topic to ponder at a later time. The list was growing.

Even though Tara wasn't ready to admit it to herself, she was starting to feel that being a vampire might not be so bad, notwithstanding her present circumstances of being dragged down the hallway of some scary ass vamp prison. A big part of that burgeoning notion that maybe she could make some kind of life for herself as a vampire (if she could avoid the True Death, that is), stemmed from her vampire family, especially her maker.

Tara's relationship with her maker was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life. She was still learning and processing what it all meant to be so connected with Pam, but already that connection was deeper, stronger, _more hers,_ than any human relationship Tara had ever known.

Tara's makeshift human family gave her support and love, but she could never entirely shake the feeling that they didn't completely belong to her. LaLa was LaLa, of course. He was just … her rock, in so many ways. Lafayette was her cousin, not her brother; even though he felt more like a brother than a cousin.

LaLa had always been there for Tara on the drop of a time, even if being there meant busting up his own groove, which it often did. But Lafayette had a sick Mama of his own to care for. He also had his own agendas, which mostly consisted of being a ho with low standards for any man within a 100-mile radius, and engaging in illegal business enterprises that threatened to get him fucked up.

Sam was her boss, so there were limits to that relationship. Okay, Sam was more than a boss to Tara. He was a friend she'd shared a bed with. But there were still limits to that relationship. Sam had his business to run, and his own fucked up family shit to deal with. But even so, Sam had always been there to help Tara when she needed him, even after she was turned into a vampire.

Sookie loved Tara, but she also had her own shit goin' on. From the moment Bill Compton stepped his slave-holdin' ass into Bon Temps, the sometimes clueless blonde was continually caught up in one vampire drama after another. Sookie seemed to have a knack for wading through vampire shit and coming out clean and smelling like roses.

Tara knew she wouldn't be so lucky, so she had tried to stay way clear of Sookie's crazy vampire-related escapades, especially after her encounter with Franklin Mott. Somehow, Tara just knew that Sookie's vampire shit would make its way to her and she'd be fucked somehow. Oh, the bitter, undead irony.

But despite Sookie's penchant for attracting bad news and death, including Tara's own demise at the hands of a demented werewolf aiming for Sookie, the blonde was Tara's family. (_And besides, I'm the fool who jumped in front of a bullet with Sookie's name on it). _

Deep down, Tara knew Sookie would _always_ be her family. It didn't matter that there was unresolved shit between them, things that needed to be said and air that needed to be cleared.

Tara also knew, despite how she chided herself for getting in harm's way more than once to help or save Sookie's sometimes selfish ass, she'd probably do it again, if necessary, even now. Protecting the few people that she really loved was hardwired into Tara. She couldn't help it. Hell, just the night before, Tara had been ready to go with Sookie to bring Jessica to her maker, vampire god Bill or whatever the hell he was now, until Eric and Pam shut it down. That foolishness alone said so much about Tara's steadfast loyalty and love for Sookie.

Even Jason had been there for Tara at a lot of critical times when her back was, in some cases literally, against a wall and she really needed him. Jason had killed Franklin. _And Eggs. _Tara didn't bother filing this away for another time. Jason killing Eggs was definitely shit Tara couldn't think about now, maybe not ever.

Jason Stackhouse wasn't exactly Tara's favorite person at the moment, given his recent, inexplicable, asshole behavior toward vampires. And she definitely wasn't feelin' that word "fanger" that he kept throwin' around. The baby vamp didn't like how that word sounded, how it struck against her eardrums. It felt a lot like another word she didn't like. It made Tara want to punch Jason Stackhouse in the mouth.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Back to Reality and Asshole LAVTF Guards_**

And speaking of wanting to punch racist assholes in the mouth, there was the LAVTF guard, one of four, still dragging Tara down that winding hallway. He had just reminded Tara of his presence by flicking and poking her face with a tiny shank made of silver. It stung like hell, literally burning Tara out of her thoughts. Tara screamed in pain, much to the delight of that asshole bitch guard. He and Tara had gotten into it from the moment she was hauled into Vamp Camp.

The guard, average height, brown hair, brown eyes – call him Asshole 1 – had first threatened to silver Tara because she had given him too much attitude after the survival exercise in the Games Room. He didn't silver her then, but he threatened to do it. Now, he had just followed through on his threat. He silver shanked Tara for resisting her armed escort down the hall.

Tara's resistance started from the moment guards started pulling her and Eric in opposite directions. While Tara had mentally prepared herself to be in prison during the paddy wagon ride to Vamp Camp, she hadn't consciously processed the possibility of being separated from Eric. Looking back, the outcome seemed predictable, maybe even obvious. Human prison populations are separated by gender, so why wouldn't vampire prisoners be, as well?

Nevertheless, Tara flipped out when she realized she was being separated from Eric. The guards took her vampire Grand Daddy to the men's wing. Her maker was somewhere in this place, but Tara didn't know where. She hoped Pam would be wherever they were taking her, but she couldn't be sure of that. It suddenly hit Tara that for all practical purposes, she was in prison alone.

Tara hated jails. She hated being in any situation where she didn't have control and freedom of movement. The one and only time Tara had been in jail was in Bon Temps, when she was picked up for reckless driving and driving under the influence of alcohol. And let's not forget the pig that came out of nowhere. That shit was crazy, even by Bon Temps standards.

Had Tara been sober, maybe she would have kept seeing a wandering pig to herself. But she wasn't sober, and she did mention the pig, which reinforced to Sheriff Kenya Jones that she should be in jail and not driving anywhere.

_Well fuck Kenya. Sheriff Jones. Hmpf. Sheriff Jones, my ass. We went to school together, where she was screwin' two football players at the same time and copyin' off my math exam. But now she gonna act like she don't remember that shit. Bitch didn't have to arrest me. _

Tara felt the walls of the police station closing in on her as soon as she was booked. And as soon as she was given her phone call, she dialed home. That's what you're supposed to do. That's what you should be able to count on, right? No matter how fucked up your family is, they come get you outta jail. But bitch ass Lettie Mae suddenly decided to get religion right when Tara needed her the most.

After everything that Tara had done for her, Lettie Mae refused to bail her out of jail. _Bitch. _As Tara stewed, considering the prospect of being holed up in jail until a court date and maybe serving minor time, she felt the first embers of hate for her mother burn inside her.

And that was how she met Maryann, who showed up out of the blue with bail money and the promise of a place to stay and a new family. If Tara hadn't been so freaked out and desperate for her freedom, she would've seen that all that shit was too good to be true and kept her black ass in jail.

Thinking back to that mistake with Maryann, Tara tried to calm herself. _How about this time you slow your shit down and just … think. _The baby vampire tried. She really did. The spirit was willing, but as always, Tara's angry flesh was weak.

Tara should have been walking down that hall cooperatively, keeping a cool head, and assessing her surroundings. This wasn't the local jail in Bon Temps, where she'd gone to high school with all the deputies. This was vampire prison, most likely a death camp. She had no rights, and nobody would care if those guards gave her the True Death. Tara could also tell that even in Vamp Camp, some vampires were more equal than others. Black female vampires, big shock, were at the bottom of the totem pole.

Tara knew all the right things that she should be doing, _intellectually. _But Tara was Tara, and change was difficult, especially when trying to modify core personality traits. Apparently, the bitches who ran this place wanted their vampire detainees quiet and cooperative. Tara's personality boxes were checked _negative _in both those categories. Besides, they fuckin' shot her. So what was Tara supposed to do, get shot and then just be happy-go-lucky about that shit? Nuh uh. Fuck that.

The bullet hurt like hell, not as bad as the pain of silver, but pretty fuckin' bad. At least it wasn't a UV bullet, just a regular bullet; and it had passed straight through Tara's side, lodging into the wall.

Had she paid more attention to her surroundings when she was first put into that white room with the big red Xs on the floor, maybe Tara would have noticed that there were several bullets embedded in the walls. Maybe she would have had a clue about what was coming. Maybe she would have performed better, even against vampires that were admittedly much older than her.

But Tara was afraid and skittish … _and angry and belligerent_ …, so she hadn't noticed those bullets in the walls, or the spent casings on the floor. Well, she didn't notice them until _after _she got shot and was being dragged out of the room. By the time the guards were standing her upright, her bullet wound had already healed. But the swarthy vampire still felt the clawing pain of human fingernails as those guards dug into her skin, pulling her down some long hallway to god knows where.

And yes, Tara was pulling back in the other direction, not really trying to escape, just buying herself a few precious minutes to process what the hell was happening. She had the good sense not to run, because she saw several guards pacing the circular walkways above her head. Their weapons were trained on Tara as she moved (_was being dragged) _down the hall. _What the fuck is this place?_

Tara hated being touched against her will. During her childhood, she had had a lot of unwanted touches, in various forms; and she hated them all. Adult Tara had vowed to herself that she would never let someone touch her against her will. She carried guilt for falling through on that promise to herself when it came to Franklin, who had kidnapped, raped and tortured her. But the fucker was dead now, so there was that to hold onto whenever the trauma from that shit fucked with her head.

The broken promise to her human self made baby vamp Tara even more determined to prevent a bitch from doing anything to her that she didn't want done. That wasn't an option, especially after what happened with Franklin. No matter what, Tara would fight that shit. Always. Doing battle was Ms. Thornton's brand of meditation and self-expression. She had learned this about herself from cage fighting, which had given her lots of new tools to better express herself.

As much as Tara hated unwanted touching, she also hated being pushed and shoved. Tara hated that shit when it happened figuratively, as in "shoved around by life." And she hated that shit even more when it was literal, as in "shoved around right now" by racist security guards like Asshole 1.

Tara knew that she was in prison and she should probably cool her shit, but she was too wired and agitated to tamp down her knee-jerk urge to do battle, to shove and push back. That instinct to fight was a deeply ingrained survival instinct, with more emphasis on the word _instinct _than the word _survival_.

Sometimes fighting hard worked for the swarthy vampire, and other times it didn't. This was one of those times when it didn't. The baby vamp was paying the price for resisting her captors. The burning sensation from the silver shank was painful and unmistakable, as was the smell of her burning flesh.

Through her screams, Tara heard the irksome voice of Asshole 1, as he sneered, "I see your kind always got attitudes, whether you's a human or a vampur."

The guard may have had hopes that the threat of being touched by the gleaming, pestilent piece of metal would shut Tara up. Wrong.

Then possibly, he hoped that giving the struggling vampire a touch of that silver shank would make her comply. There was nothing like burning skin to make even the most recalcitrant vampires shut the fuck up and start walking where they were being directed to go.

But obviously the guard didn't know Tara Thornton. The threat, the silvering, and especially the verbal barb, just pissed the belligerent vampire off even more.

So rather than cowering and cooperating, as that guard might have expected her to do, Tara screamed at Asshole 1, "Your kind? Who the fuck is your kind, bitch?"

Asshole 1 smiled a devilish smile, and Tara knew what was coming next. She recognized the self-satisfied look that all bigoted bitches got when they were about to say some racist, fucked up shit. And they always got an extra special glint of joy in their eye when they were about to say_ that_ word, in particular.

Asshole 1 drawled out, savoring each word, "You know what kind I'm talkin' 'bout. Sure ya do. The nigger bitch kind. The nigger parta ya makes ya stupid, and the bitch parta ya makes ya mouth off."

So, yeah. Fuck it. Tara slapped Asshole 1 across the face. Hard. The force of the slap was enough to make his head protection gear turn lopsided and his racist brown eyes pool with tears of pain. Even one of Asshole 1's fellow guards laughed a little, until he saw how angry the bitch-slapped motherfucker was.

Asshole 1 was embarrassed, so he pulled what Tara guessed was his "go to" move when a woman dared to not take his shit and put him in his place. He punched Tara. But Tara was a vampire, so she barely registered the blow. It felt like an unwelcome, filthy caress more than anything, but it still pissed her off.

So Tara showed a feral grin and slapped Asshole 1 again, but not as hard as the first time. The second slap was a taunt more than anything. It was meant more to annoy than to hurt. The second slap let Asshole 1 know that (1) Tara wasn't afraid of him, and (2) she was exercising restraint by not kicking his racist ass. She was strong enough to do him real damage, if she wanted to go there. And if she wasn't in fuckin' vampire prison, of course.

The taunting slap made Asshole 1 even more pissed, maybe because Tara had just treated him like a rag doll and not a man. So he silvered Tara again to boost his wounded pride.

He raised that silvery shank of metal that was attached to his uniform (_secured and readily assessable for emergencies)_, and gave Tara another press against her cheek. This time he held the silver against her face for several excruciating seconds, temporarily marring her beautiful, flawless, chocolate skin.

The metal burned like a motherfucker. Tara's fangs distended in pain just before the other guards pulled Asshole 1, and his silver weapon, away from the screaming vampire. The melee and the pain from the silver brought Tara to her knees.

"Fuck you, black fanger bitch!" Asshole 1 was hurling himself in Tara's direction, against the firm presses against his chest by two of the guards.

The fourth guard stayed with Tara and gently helped her to her feet. His clear blue eyes were kind. He was blonde and looked sweet but daft, all of which kinda reminded Tara of pre-asshole Jason Stackhouse. Jason's twin was the same guard who laughed a little when Tara slapped the racist asshole prick. Tara gave that fourth guard a tiny smile that said, "Thanks."

Asshole 1 collected himself and pushed the other two guards away from him. He yelled at them, "Get the fuck offa me!"

The guards and Tara watched as Asshole 1 fixed his head gear and straightened out his uniform. He breathed in and out twice, calming himself.

Then Asshole 1 turned to Tara and jeered, "Listen, fanger bitch. You done did it, now. You gotta lotta mouth for some dead ass vampur … and strikin' an officer. Oh, I'm gonna give that mouth and those fat lips a yours somethin' better to do. And show you who's boss."

Asshole 1 gripped his crotch to illustrate how he planned to show Tara who's boss. Tara scowled and fumed. The unapologetic gesture immediately brought forth images of Franklin at his worst. Asshole 1 deserved the hits Tara had given him, and then some. The vampire vowed to herself that she would rip Asshole 1's balls off if he so much as breathed on her the wrong way, let alone touched her.

Before she could change her mind, Tara shot back, "Don't look like you the boss a nothin'. Cause if they hired your dumb ass for this bullshit security job then it must be one step above mall cop."

Two things happened at that moment, one bad and the other possibly good. The bad thing that happened was that as soon as Tara hurled that insult at Asshole 1, she detected a change in the amiable mood of Jason's twin, the guard with the kind blue eyes. He looked hurt.

It was only when Tara saw that look in the now stormy blue eyes of Jason's twin that she realized she had gone that extra unnecessary step. Instead of just insulting Asshole 1, Tara had put down his entire occupation, which unfortunately included Jason's twin. _There you go again, Tara. You never change, do ya? Would it have been so terrible to have one friend in this place?_

The insult pushed Asshole 1 over the edge. He decided, "Why wait to show this bitch who's boss?"

Tara suddenly felt the sting of silver again, only this time the pain wasn't isolated in a single location. She felt the sting on both her wrists and her neck. Through her haze of agony, Tara assessed that Asshole 1 has wrapped a silver chain around her neck, then handcuffed her in silver bracelets. The other three guards stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. Two of them eventually followed Asshole 1. Jason's twin just looked freaked out.

Tara was too weak to pull against the force of Asshole 1 dragging her down a side hallway toward a closed door. She knew what was about to happen.

**_# # # # #_**

**_An Angel Comes to Tara's Rescue_**

While the baby vampire was working to block out the burn of the silver so she could think of how to kill her first human, the second, possibly good thing happened. She heard a voice. In that moment, it sounded like the voice of an angel.

That voice, which sounded Northern, intelligent and authoritative, said, "Is there a problem getting this prisoner to GenPop, gentlemen? Because it's uhhh … that way."

Tara tried to focus on the man who was speaking. She thought possibly her mind might be playing tricks on her. The man wasn't quite the equivalent of a wandering pig, but he looked just as out of place in the sterile metallic hallway littered with uniformed guards and vampires in blue prison linens.

The man was dressed in all black from head to toe, right down to his shoes. Even his hair and eyeglass frames were black. The only thing that wasn't black was the white badge that hung around the man's neck and the tint of his glasses. The guards zoned in on that badge and straightened up, which must mean that this man in black was somebody very important. Tara squinted. _Was that yellow tint on his eyeglass lenses? And what the hell was he eating? What the fuck?_

The man spoke again, "Is it standard procedure to silver a vampire on the walk from the Games Room to GenPop?"

Asshole 1 chimed in, "N-no sir. But this vampur's been 'specially difficult. We was jus' tryin' ta get her to GenPop as quick as possible."

The man in black pushed past the guards. He looked at Tara with kind eyes as he spoke, "Well, seems to me that the quickest direction to GenPop is that way? You guys work here long?"

There was a nervous silence, until Jason's twin broke it with, "I been here for four months, sir."

"How long you worked with these three?" the man in black asked, gesturing toward the other three guards.

Asshole 1 looked nervous. The man in black gently extricated the silver necklace from around Tara's neck. He gave a "come hither" flap of his fingers, silently asking for the keys to the silver handcuffs. Asshole 1 slowly gave them up.

The man in black freed Tara. She was once again pain-free and able to think again. Now Tara noticed that Asshole 1 was glaring at Jason's twin, silently threatening him to shut the fuck up.

The man in black seemed to notice the silent intimidation, as well. He warned Jason's twin, "It's a simple enough question. Not worth losing your job over."

The silence continued for a few seconds more, then Jason's twin broke and said, "I been workin' with them since I started, Sir."

Tara could now see that the man in black was popping some kind of chocolate. They were crunchy, like peanut M&Ms, but not peanut M&Ms. Tara could smell the chocolate and the nuts.

The man popped a chocolate nut and observed, "So the four of you have been working here for at least four months. Do you find this place to be too big for you? Do you take a long time to get where you're going? Do you get lost often?"

While none of the guards were incredibly smart, they at least had the good sense to analyze the implications of the man in black's questions before answering. It didn't seem like a good thing in terms of job performance to tell a senior manager you took forever to get where you were going or that you got lost at your worksite.

Since he was threatening his colleagues into keeping their mouths shut, Asshole 1 was the focus of the other three guards' attention. They all looked to him to answer for the collective.

Asshole 1 stuttered, "N-n-no, Sir. We do our jobs real well. We don't take long and we don't get lost."

The man in black smirked and chewed chocolate nuts. He asked as if he knew the answer, "So care to tell me why you were taking your female prisoner here this way instead of that way to female GenPop? Based on what you just said, you didn't get lost. So what were you guys doing?"

No way was anyone answering that question. All four guards just stood silent, increasingly uneasy under the unrelenting glare of the man in black and his yellow-tinted lenses. For a brief moment, Tara's mouth wanted to open and say some shit. But this time, the baby vampire clamped down and stayed quiet.

The man in black chewed several chocolate covered nuts, not seeming at all in a hurry to release the guards from the uncomfortable standoff. He didn't say anything until his little bag of chocolate nuts was empty.

"Damn, I'm out of …," the man in black quickly searched his person. He looked increasingly agitated, until he found a mostly full bag in the inside pocket of his thin, black leather jacket. He visibly relaxed.

"Hmmm. Looks like I'm running low on provisions, so let's get to the point. You four were heading this way because that little storage room over there is a popular location for guards to fuck female prisoners. Now the fact that you had to silver this prisoner suggests the activity you had planned was rape, and not just garden-variety fucking." The man in black glared. He looked angry, like he was barely controlling himself. His voice never elevated, which added to the intimidating effect.

Asshole 1 protested, "With all due respect, Sir."

The man in black visibly bristled at that, but nobody knew why. He interrupted, facetiously, "Go on, respect me. I'm all ears."

"Huh?" Asshole 1 was totally confused, but he proceeded with his point, "We were just goin' ta talk to this prisoner about her attitude, that's all. And she's a vampur. You can't rape a vampur."

The man in black closed his eyes and opened them slowly. Tara's vampiric senses detected waves of anger wafting off him. He looked like he was straining not to punch Asshole 1. Instead, he popped more chocolate nuts.

The man leaned his yellow-tinted lenses forward, until his frames almost touched Asshole 1's glass eye protection gear. He warned in a serious, threatening tone, "Already, I don't like you. While I'm sure it would be enlightening to hear the long list of women you think can't be raped, we'll save that gem of a conversation for another time. Right now, you need to escort this prisoner to female GenPop, which is that way. Do it. Now."

Asshole 1 looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. He made a show of holding Tara lightly by the arm and leading her down the hall in the opposite direction. The man in black silently followed, several yards behind the group. Tara could hear the steady click clack of his black heels on the floor. The baby vamp complied as the guards escorted her. She was still extremely pissed off on the inside, but on the outside she was calm. She didn't resist.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Fuck All Y'all Bitches_**

Tara focused on active nonresistance as she was brought into the main holding area of female GenPop. As soon as the door opened, all the women in the room gazed on her like dogs greeting a new entrant into a free-range kennel. Tara met as many eyes as she could and scowled back. The looks were making Tara's anger, which she had managed to contain, bubble to the surface.

As soon as the GenPop door closed, Tara headed for an empty chair. She made it maybe two steps, when suddenly two female vamp bitches sped up to her and were in her face.

Vamp Bitch 1 started with, "What's up, baby va-"

Tara knew an intimidation when she saw it. After getting silvered more than once and almost dragged into a rape room by Asshole 1, Tara needed to punch something. It seemed she had two volunteers.

Tara smacked Vamp Bitch 1; and unlike when she slapped the guard, the angry baby vampire didn't hold back. Vamp Bitch 1 went sailing across the room. Tara sped toward her airborne body. The vamp bully crashed into a wall, then found herself being pummeled by Tara. The last thing the bully expected was for the new baby vamp prisoner to kick her ass, no questions asked. Vamp Bitch 1 was in pure defensive mode, trying to recover, but Tara wasn't letting up.

Tara could tell that Vamp Bitch 1 was an older vampire. Pam's progeny wasn't good yet at guessing vampires' ages. At this point, she'd had physical contests of some sort with three vampires, not counting Sheriff Stormer. Those vampires were Jessica, Pam and Eric; although Pam and Eric couldn't really be called contests, since they were old and easily held her baby vamp ass in place.

Tara could tell that neither of the vamp bitches was as old as Pam, but they were older than Jessica. Tara guessed, for what it was worth, which wasn't much, that both vampires were somewhere between twenty and sixty years old. The two vamp bitches weren't old enough to run the room, but they were old enough to pick on a week and change old baby vampire.

Tara's cage fighting experience helped her add years onto her vampire age. Maybe it was the cage fighting, plus nearly her entire life spent as an angry human, plus the superior blood of her family line. Or perhaps it was a combination of all these factors. Whatever the reason, Tara was much stronger, faster and wiser – at least when it came to kicking ass - than her vampire age.

Tara was aware of Vamp Bitch 2 making a fast approach from behind. Pam's progeny made every last hit she could get in on Vamp Bitch 1 before deftly moving out of the way at the very last minute. Vamp Bitch 2 crashed headlong into her partner, and the two of them wailed in pain.

Tara remembered that the two vamp bitches had sped up to her from a corner of the room that nested a tight-knit group of about five other vamp bitches. Those vamps in the corner were all watching the fight with great interest, but none of them made a move to help, at least not yet.

One of those corner vampires, a brunette, seemed to run shit and was especially focused on Tara. Tara had the impression that the two vamp bitches tested her with the permission of the brunette. But Pam's progeny only had seconds to take all that shit in, since she was in the middle of kicking ass.

Tara sped back over to the two bullies and started punching Vamp Bitch 2 on the back of the head. That was always an illegal move in human cage fighting, but for vampires there were no rules. Tara liked that a lot.

Pam's progeny was strong and fast, but even she was no match for two decades older vampires at the same time. The two vamp bullies eventually got the upper hand. One of them landed a punch that sent Tara sailing. The hit dazed the baby vampire. Before she could recover, she felt herself being punched again and again. Then Vamp Bitch 2 was holding her so Vamp Bitch 1 could take her time.

Vamp Bitch 1 punched, then talked, "I was just trying to give you a little welcome, baby bitch. But welcome this."

Tara tried to fight back, but Vamp Bitch 1's punches were too hard and fast. So Tara changed her focus from trying to fight back to trying not to black out.

Tara heard from what sounded like far away a voice commanding, "Stop it, Warwick. Stand the hell down."

Tara assumed that Warwick was the bitch who was punching her. She looked up in the direction she thought the voice was coming from. She saw the same four guards who had delivered her to GenPop standing on a platform above the main holding area. She saw Asshole 1, who was pointing a semi-automatic rifle at her and the two vamp bitch bullies. The man in black was standing next to Asshole 1, whispering something and snacking.

Then suddenly, Tara felt the punching stop and she was covered in blood and vamp goo. She heard several screams echoing throughout the holding area. Vamp Bitch 1 exploded so fast that Tara didn't register until after the fact that Asshole 1 had given her a wooden bullet to the heart.

All movement stopped. Tara felt Vamp Bitch 2 still holding her. Pam's progeny turned around and punched the vamp bully hard, knocking her to the floor. Tara was about to climb on top of the vamp bitch and pummel her, when she heard, "Stand down, Thornton. Stand down!"

Despite the fact that Tara knew Asshole 1 was probably training his gun right on her heart, just itching for an excuse to pull the trigger, she was fighting against the urge to keep fighting. The threat of the True Death wasn't quite as strong in that moment as her maker's command, but it was thankfully close enough.

Tara's feet and fists came to a screeching halt. She slowly turned around, her hands raised. She faced Asshole 1, unflinching. The man in black watched Tara. He was snacking and smiling.

Asshole 1 commanded Tara, "Stay where you are. Don't you fuckin' move, Thornton. Same goes for you, Harris."

Tara felt the eyes from that corner boring into her. She turned to see the brunette gazing, giving Tara rapt attention. Tara glared back.

Pam's progeny yelled at Asshole 1, "Fuck you, bitch."

Then she turned and surveyed the room full of vampires, training her eyes on the brunette in the corner. She added, "And fuck you bitches, too. Fuck all y'all!"

The brunette smiled. Tara glared. Before the baby vamp could turn around, the door to the main holding area opened. Tara was covered in a blanket of fire, a body wrap made of meshed silver. She screamed.

The sting of the silver was so excruciating that Tara fell to her knees. She was blinded by pain, but she heard Vamp Bitch 2, otherwise known as Harris, laughing. That laughter was like a spark of lightning striking dry brush. It burned Tara from the inside out and lifted her. The baby vamp managed to harness enough strength to hurl herself at the laughing vamp bitch.

Tara covered Vamp Bitch Harris with her body. She tried to press silver over every bit of Harris' exposed skin. Tara focused her efforts on silvering the bitch's face. She wanted to wipe that smile away, silence that laughter. The baby vamp felt karmic goodness when she heard Harris's laughter turn to bone-chilling screams.

Guards pulled Tara off the vamp bully. The silver body wrap that clung to Tara's burning flesh also ripped off singed pieces of Harris's skin. Tara screamed, and so did Harris. Every vampire in the holding area stood motionless and transfixed. They had first been shocked by the sudden take down of Vamp Bitch Warwick. Then they were wincing as they watched the silvering of Tara. Every vamp in the room looked thankful that it wasn't her.

Tara struggled against the pull of the guards. The vampires in her vicinity jumped back. No one wanted to be touched by any part of the cloak of silver adorning Tara's burning body.

The brunette in the corner looked genuinely amazed and impressed. _Fuck her. Bitch probably sent those bitches to mess with me. _

Tara's dark eyes glinted behind silver ringlets, even as the rings burned her brows and the skin beneath her eyelids.

The pissed off baby vamp resisted the pull of the guards long enough to grit out from inside her haze of pain and the meshed silver body suit, "Furrrrck youuu! Furg ahll you betches!"

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara Gets Some Helpful Advice From Her Guardian Angel_**

Tara writhed on the floor of the main hallway just outside the door of the female GenPop holding area. She released a blood-curdling scream as the silver body mesh was unceremoniously ripped from her body. She looked up to see Asshole 1 holding the mesh and giving her a savage grin. Tara looked past Asshole 1's shoulder and saw the man in black standing behind him.

Asshole 1 was so caught up with punishing Tara that he forgot where he was and that he was being watched. He sneered, "Sorry, did that hurt? Looks like you're coated in dead vampur. Might be you next time. Time to take you for a shower."

The man in black interjected, "The four of you are relieved. Go back to your posts."

Asshole 1's expression turned from glee to anger. He corrected his face before standing to face the man in black. He tried to sound calm as he asked, "Excuse me, Sir? We need to take the prisoner to get showered and-"

The man in black cut Asshole 1 off, "No, you don't need to do anything. I'm taking her to the showers. Oh, and what I said to you in GenPop goes beyond tonight. If any of you lay a hand, or any other body part, on this vampire, I'll have your head."

Asshole 1 and the other three guards stood for a minute, as if they expected the man in black to change his mind. He didn't. They turned and left.

The man in black turned to regard Tara. He extended his hand and said, "My name's Troy Mathis. And you are?"

Tara looked suspiciously for a moment, then took Mathis's hand. She slowly replied, "Tara. Tara Thornton."

Mathis asked easily, "Well, Tara. I've seen how you fuck up both guards and vampires. If I walk with you like a gentleman, can we take a peaceful stroll to the women's showers without me needing to … restrain you?"

Tara sucked her bottom lip and breathed, even though she didn't need to take in air. She calmed herself, willed herself not to fuck this up. She and her big mouth had lost one potential friend on the other side of the divide today. She didn't want to lose another one, and this Mathis dude definitely looked like a possible friend.

Tara nodded and said, "Yeah."

Mathis smiled and said, "Good. That leaves my hands free for more important things. Let's walk and talk."

Mathis casually popped another chocolate peanut into his mouth. Tara asked, "What the hell are those things you keep inhalin' like crack?"

Mathis laughed a little as he took in Tara's demeanor and drawl. He felt a warmth toward her, like she could be his brash little sister. He replied, "Cocoa dusted almonds. You want to try … Oh, sorry. You can't eat these."

Tara rolled her eyes a little and smirked. She didn't know quite what to make of Mathis. He was a little odd, but she had the feeling that he was … good. Tara instantly felt distrust of that feeling, and the word. She didn't have the best track record when it came to judging character. The doubt made her cautious.

But she did want information. So she observed, "You not wearin' no uniform."

Mathis replied, "No."

Tara started to fire the questions.

Tara: And you ain't got no gun.

Mathis: No.

Tara: And you don't seem stupid like those guards.

Mathis (chuckling a little): Thanks. Although that bar is so low I shouldn't feel too happy about exceeding it.

Tara: And you wearin' one of those white badges.

Mathis: I am.

Tara: So you must be some big shot. You run this place?

Mathis: No, thank god.

Tara: And everywhere you walk, like right now, people part for you like the red sea.

Mathis: Hmmm, I never noticed.

Tara: Well, look around. They're doin' it.

Mathis: Okay. I see a bit of sea parting. What's your point?

Tara: I don't have no point. I got a question. Why you givin' me a personal escort to the showers?

Mathis: My job is to make sure this place runs properly and that staff follow the rules. I know this is a vampire prison, but it's also a state facility backed by private investors. It shouldn't degenerate into sadism. Torturing and attempting to rape vampires sounds pretty sadistic to me.

Tara: Okay. You helped me out. Still doesn't explain why you're escortin' me around instead of just orderin' those guards to play nice.

Mathis: Maybe I'm being a boy scout. Besides, I thought you'd prefer me as an escort to those guards, no matter how nice they promise to play.

Tara: Don't know if you're preferable to them or not. Could be out I'm walkin' outta the fryin' pan into the fire. Maybe whatever it is you lookin' for from me … you don't wanna share with nobody else.

The thought made Tara edgy, and edginess made Tara react. She suddenly made some space between her and Mathis. Mathis didn't say anything. Tara didn't like the silence. Her voice elevated.

Tara: What do you want with me?

Mathis (calmly): Let's keep walking.

Tara stayed put.

Tara: Not until you tell me what the fuck you want with me.

Mathis stopped walking and turned to Tara. He wasn't smiling anymore.

Mathis: Listen, Tara. I don't pretend to have any idea about the hell you're going through right now. I've observed you enough to see that you're tough and unafraid in situations where most people are weak and shitting themselves. I admire that. I like it. I really do, which is partly why I took an interest in you.

But like most of us, your greatest strength seems to also be your greatest weakness. Maybe I'm out of place here, but hey. You're a prisoner so I can say what I want. Quit being so quick to fight and use your head. If my grand plan was to rape you in the showers, would I be walking with you unescorted eating fucking almonds? Nothing on me is made of silver, not even my buttons. So maybe I should be afraid of you.

Tara considered what Mathis told her. His logic made sense to her. But she waited a moment longer to consider the possibility that the man in black had some other angle, some ulterior motive she hadn't previously entertained.

Mathis: The longer you stand there, the more unwanted attention we're attracting.

Tara was naturally skeptical of people's good intentions. Hard experiences had made her distrustful, but her limited choices helped her make a pragmatic, cautious choice in this instance. She started walking. Mathis saw the guards staring and gently took her arm. Tara jumped slightly, but she didn't resist.

Troy and Tara silently made their way to the women's showers. Tara couldn't help the edginess she felt as they approached the entrance. Her antenna, already up, hummed a bit when Mathis stepped inside with her.

Tara folded her arms and waited, keeping her eyes on the man in black. Mathis stepped over to a cabinet and pulled out fresh blue prison linens. He laid them on a wooden bench, then turned to Tara.

Mathis smiled and said, "Looks like you've got the shower all to yourself. Take advantage of it and have a nice long one. I've got my book in my pocket to keep me company, so take as much time as you want. I'll be right outside when you're done."

Mathis turned to leave, then stopped as a thought came to mind. He turned to Tara and advised, "This door is the only exit. I know you can move fast, but this place has motion detectors and a lockdown system. I'm sure you're smart enough not to run; but if you did, you wouldn't get very far before someone took you down."

Tara assessed Mathis. Her instincts kept telling Tara that he was genuinely trying to help her. She nodded and said, "I understand."

Mathis smiled a little and left the room. Tara looked around for several seconds, then slowly undressed. She grabbed an ivory handle jutting out of the wall, turned it and adjusted the temperature of the stream, which was surprisingly strong.

_Ain't this a bitch. Louisiana can't give some parts of Bon Temps a decent sewer system, but they got plenty of money for new construction and good water pressure when it's for a goddamn prison._

Again, the reality of being in Vamp Camp hit Tara. She breathed deep and calmed herself. She watched as red-tinted water and dead vampire parts cascaded off her body and down the drain.

As the water faded from bloody to clear, Tara listened for the door to open. It didn't. Eventually, she relaxed enough to savor a moment of quiet and the simple pleasure of a pulsing, hot shower.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara's Guardian Angel Tries a Nonsensual Seduction_**

Tara emerged from the shower room, clean and dressed in fresh prison linens. She had stood under a wall dryer for as long as she could stand it, so her hair was mostly dry. She found Mathis leaned against a wall reading and popping chocolate nuts. He looked up when he heard the door open.

For some reason, Mathis and his advice, especially the part about using her head more and her fists less, had affected the baby vampire. Tara decided to do something she rarely did, make small talk.

Tara: So what book is so important that you carryin' it around in a prison?

Mathis: I carry it with me often. I've read it too many times to count, but years later it's still one of my favorite pocket liners.

Mathis handed Tara his pocket-sized book and gently took her arm. She let him guide her as she read the title. The book was Dale Carnegie's _How To Win Friends and Influence People._

Tara (laughing a little): Well, clearly I need this shit.

Mathis: You don't have many friends?

Tara: No, never have. I can count 'em on one hand.

Tara held up five fingers.

Tara: And lately those been droppin' one after the other.

Tara quickly folded one finger at a time until all five fingers formed a fist. Mathis gave Tara a tiny smile and bumped her fist with his. Tara looked bemused, unsure what to make of the gesture, so she didn't say anything. Mathis pointed to the book.

Mathis: Then maybe you should skim that. Sounds like you need to re-up on friends. Dale Carnegie can help you. Do vampires read faster?

Tara skimmed the book as they slowly walked. She flipped pages after every five seconds, making her way through half the book in about ten minutes.

Tara: Don't know about all vampires, but yeah. I read a lot faster now than I did when I was human. Not that I've had much time to read as a vampire, so it kinda doesn't matter how fast I can read.

Mathis: So, you like reading, huh?

Something about Mathis's tone bothered Tara.

Tara: What the hell is that supposed to mean? You surprised if I like to read?

Mathis approached a secured door. He placed his hand against the reader, then abruptly pulled it back. Instead of using his fingerprints to gain access, he pulled open a tiny door to reveal a keypad. He slowly punched in a numerical code. The door opened and he escorted Tara into another hallway leading to another wing of the facility.

Mathis (sounding a bit irritated): Don't believe I expressed any kind of surprise, Tara. I just asked you a question. I'll repeat. So, you like reading, huh?

Tara (edgy): Yeah, I do. What of it?

Mathis: What kinds of books? E. Lynn Harris? Comics? Jet magazine?

Mathis escorted Tara through another secured door, opened the tiny access panel and punched in the same numeric code. He took her down a short hallway. They passed several rooms. Tara glanced inside and saw human activity, people milling about looking at papers, empty rooms with equipment. She was more interested in talking to Mathis, who was steadily pissing her off.

Tara (more edgy): First of all, jet magazine isn't a book. It's a magazine. E. Lynn Harris? Comics? Really? So first you act surprised that I read at all. Then if I do read, it must be books by black people and simple ass shit like comic books?

Mathis: Tara, you obviously don't read very many comics, if any. If you did, you'd know the really well done ones aren't, as you so eloquently put it, _simple ass shit._ I was making small talk, but forget it. Seems pretty clear you don't read. People like you aren't that smart anyway.

Mathis pulled Tara to the other end of the short hallway. There were two doors, one straight ahead and one to their right. Tara could see through the glass of the door that was straight ahead. It opened into another hallway. Mathis went right, instead. That door, like the other two he and Tara had entered previously, was secured.

Mathis slowly punched in the same numerical code and opened the door. It opened into a storage room containing shelves of uniforms and other supplies. This small room with high ceilings was quiet. It felt completely devoid of any kind of activity, except for a camera trained on the tiny area. Tara was so pissed that she didn't process that she and Mathis were now alone in a storage room.

Tara: What the fuck do you mean _people like me?_

Mathis: Don't think I stuttered, but I'm happy to repeat. People like you aren't smart. You _act_ dumb. You're hot-tempered for no reason, and too quick to fight instead of thinking through a problem.

Tara pushed Mathis into a wall and bared her fangs.

Tara: Listen, I don't give a fuck if this is vampire prison. Keep up that racist bullshit and I'm gonna eat your ass.

Mathis: Gonna what? Before you eat me alive, why don't you at least tell me what you think I said that was racist?

Tara: You know damn well what you just said, bitch. You said black people are dumb and incapable of thinkin'.

Mathis: First, no, I did not. I said _you_, Tara Thornton, _act dumb_. I said you're hot-tempered for no reason; and you fight too much when you should be thinking through a problem. Don't put your dumb acting, stupid shit on all black people.

Second, all I was doing was trying to be your friend, trying to get you to like me. I was practicing Carnegie's tip number four for making new friends and getting people to like you. I asked you a question that would encourage you to talk about yourself. Most people like it when others allow them to talk about themselves. You apparently aren't most people. Instead of engaging in a pleasant, civil conversation, you threatened to eat me.

Finally, I think your automatic assumption that I was talking about all black people when I was only talking about you specifically makes _you_ racist. Plenty of black people would have seen my question for what it was – innocent small talk. You just don't happen to be one of them.

Tara's eyes widened. She was too shocked to rip out Mathis's throat.

Tara: Just a fuckin' minute. Did you just call me racist?

Mathis: Yes, if you think I was talking about all black people when I was specifically talking only about you. Then yes, yes, yes.

Tara retracted her fangs and studied Mathis, who stood unafraid, locking eyes with her. Tara took in his features and noted that Mathis wasn't behaving like most humans did when they were confronted by an angry ass vampire. He was acting like he knew Tara, like they were … familiar. She forced herself to relax a little before she did something rash that she might regret later.

Tara: And you got the audacity to still be holdin' to that shit you just said about me?

Mathis (unflinching): I stand by all of it. Actually, you proved my point by pushing me into this wall and threatening to eat my ass, which might be fun except I don't think you meant it in a sexy kind of way. There's one fact that proves everything I said about you is true.

Tara: Oh yeah, what's that? And it betta be real compelling or I'm still gonna eat your ass, and not in no good way.

Mathis caught Tara off guard as he stepped away from the wall and came toward her. He quickly pulled her around until her back was against that same wall and he was pressing his body firmly into hers. Tara's eyes darted back and forth as she tried to process what this crazy human was doing.

Mathis placed one hand on Tara's side, holding her in place against the wall. His other hand gently brushed aside the raven tresses adorning her neck and pressed his lips to Tara's ear. Tara was about to shove Mathis away, until he started speaking in an extremely low whisper that only a vampire could hear.

Mathis: The one fact that proves everything I said about you is that we're alone together in this room, and you can't get yourself out. You should be able to get yourself out easily, but you can't.

Tara's eyes continued to dart back and forth, as she tried to understand what the fuck Mathis was talking about.

Mathis: Tell me how you can get out of this room. You can't do it, can you? I'll take your silence to mean "No."

Mathis leaned back and gazed into Tara's eyes as he stroked her hair. The vampire was still confused, but she was intrigued enough by Mathis to stay put and not resist his caresses. Despite how he was carrying on, the vibe Tara was getting from him wasn't sexual at all. She waited for him to make the next move.

Mathis: Tell me one of your favorite books. One that made you think. One that made light bulbs go off in your big head.

Mathis was smiling at Tara, like they were old friends who'd known each other for years. This time, Tara ignored the insult, which felt more like teasing, and answered the question.

Tara: _The Shock Doctrine_ by Naomi Klein.

Mathis: Ahh. A book about how Western governments, particularly the U.S., imposes destructive so-called "free market" policies by shocking vulnerable people and nations with orchestrated disasters.

Mathis leaned in and pressed his lips to Tara's ear again.

Mathis: That book seems relevant to the circumstances you're going through now, doesn't it? True Blood factories get bombed, shocking humans. Then the U.S. government rounds up vampires and puts them in places like this. Wrap your arms around me. We're performing for that camera up there.

Tara slowly embraced Mathis, caressing his back. He leaned back so he could see her once again, all the while caressing her side and cheek with his hands.

Mathis: What's the last book you read?

Tara: _The Black Swan _by Nassim Taleb. Well, I read most of it. I left it behind when I started runnin' from humans tryin' to kill me.

Mathis: See, I knew I was right about you. You're a brilliant woman, when you want to be. Did you read far enough to understand the premise of the book?

Tara: Yeah. The book says that most of the things that happen in life that really count, that really impact us the most, are rare and totally unpredictable.

Mathis: Right. Now according to Taleb, does the fact that most big shit is caused by events we never could have seen coming mean that we're totally helpless when the big shit happens to us?

Tara: No. We can understand that black swans exist and maybe recognize the a black swan when we see it. Maybe if we recognize the black swan, we can find a way to deal with it when it appears.

Mathis smiled and leaned back into Tara. He pressed his lips to Tara's ear. He also pressed his body into hers.

Mathis: So you once again prove my point, Tara. You've read enough of Taleb's book to get it. Yet you haven't been applying anything that you learned to the real world. And that book is so relevant to you right now. You're living through a black swan event as we speak. You're looking for a way out of it.

You've got another black swan standing here in front of you, literally grinding you into a wall, and you don't even recognize it. Hell, I'm even wearing all black. I'm like a fucking neon sign, and you're still too blind to see me.

Tara thought for a moment, reminding herself to keep caressing Mathis. She whispered as low as she could and still be audible to Mathis's human ears. The baby vamp still chose her words carefully, because Mathis had just told her the camera was recording them and whatever they said.

Tara: Why? Why are you … what you are … to me?

Mathis: Because I'm a guy that's important enough to have access to this entire complex. And for some reason, I've taken an interest in you. Yet you're wasting your time fighting with me and not even bothering to figure out what I want from you or what I can give you. Even if you don't want to give me what I want, you should at least find out what it is. It could save your life.

Tara (seductively, and loud enough for the camera to pick up her voice): What you want from me?

Mathis (whispering): I want you to make it out of here alive.

Tara: Why?

Mathis: Because it hasn't escaped me that many of the people who run this place are getting a special thrill out of doing what those guards were doing to you earlier. All vampires are being treated like shit, for sure. But some vampires are being treated like stinkier shit than others.

There's women, who lots of folks in here want to fuck. There's minorities, who lots of people want to torture. You're both black and a woman, so they'll want to rape _and_ torture you. Now, it's true they singled you out, but you didn't help matters when you antagonized them and escalated the conflict. That was you acting dumb. You're going to have to stop that and start paying attention to your surroundings.

Tara: You tryin' to say it's my fault that—

Tara stopped caressing Mathis and pushed him away from her. She immediately got ticked off at the suggestion that she caused Asshole 1 to silver her. She also didn't like Mathis calling her dumb again.

The baby vamp was so mad that she forgot to whisper, and she appeared ready to go off on Mathis, uncensored. Mathis tried to shut Tara up with a kiss.

Tara's fangs distended in anger, making a deep cut into Mathis's bottom lip. Then before she could stop herself, the baby vamp slapped him. Mathis stepped back, rubbing his cheek. He looked angry as he shook his head and grabbed Tara's arm.

Tara: What the fuck are you doin'?

Mathis: Taking you to GenPop. You seem anxious to get back there, so I don't want you to be late. I'm trying to find a … special friend, a special, pretty vampire friend. I thought you could be her, but it's clear you're not gonna be alive long enough to be worth knowing. Let's go.

Tara had only an instant to think. Everything in her gut told her Mathis was trying to be an ally. And here she was, missing the point and pissing him off. She had alienated Jason's twin, the LAVTF guard with the kind, blue eyes. She decided in that instant that she wasn't going to shoot herself in the foot yet again. This time she was going to learn from her mistakes.

Tara Thornton didn't normally apologize to anyone, but now she stifled her pride before it could wriggle out of a little forced humility. She pulled Mathis back close to her and held him. Mathis didn't say anything, but he didn't resist Tara's pull. To Tara he still looked annoyed.

Tara pricked her finger with her fang and applied a drop of her blood to the bleeding spot on Mathis's lower lip, healing his wound. Jessica had told her that her blood had the power to heal humans. Mathis pressed his lips together, testing out the area around the cut. He quirked a brow, marveling that he no longer felt any pain.

The man in black absently licked his lips, inadvertently tasting a cocktail of his own and Tara's blood. The baby vampire was suddenly confused. She felt an array of feelings coming into her and a sensation of numbness on her left cheek. The feelings were annoyance, protectiveness, sympathy, worry, and something else Tara couldn't decipher. The closest she could come to describing that last feeling was something like mischief-filled anticipation.

It took baby vamp Tara a moment to realize that both the array of feelings and the numbness of her cheek were coming from Mathis. Tara stung on the same side of her face where she had slapped Mathis. Jessica failed to mention that letting a human taste her blood would cause a symbiotic connection.

Tara: Can you … feel me? Can you feel what I'm feelin', my emotions?

Mathis looked confused and shook his head. _No._

Tara: Well, I think I can feel yours.

Mathis: How?

Tara: I think 'cause you drank somma my blood.

Mathis: Huh. You can feel me, huh? Well, I was feelin' you up a moment ago, but then you slapped me. So …

Tara shook her head and laughed a little. She punched Mathis lightly in the chest. _Stop talking about that. _

The baby vamp rubbed Mathis's wounded cheek and looked genuinely sorry. Tara's demeanor softened the man in black, who smiled in little.

Now that she knew what was going on inside Mathis's heart, Tara was totally comfortable with him. Troy Mathis wasn't a pervert and he wasn't trying to hurt her, or get in her pants. He wasn't sexually aroused. He craved … chocolate and coffee. Tara now knew that he was genuinely trying to help her. For whatever reason, Troy genuinely cared about what happened to her. She trusted him.

Tara: I … I …

Mathis (teasing): You not feeling well? What?

Tara: Shut the fuck up, Troy. I'm tryin' ta say … I'm sorry. For bitin' you. And for slappin' you. I know I said I was gonna eat your ass, but I was just talkin' shit. Mostly. I wanna be your special vampire friend, I guess. You're probably right about me … actin' dumb. But I got some anger, okay. I got some rage in me.

Mathis: Fair enough. Apology accepted. You sure you wanna be my friend?

Tara felt that mischievousness coming into her again from the man in black. Tara pulled Mathis back close to her. They resumed their positions and activity of "flirting" against the wall.

Tara: Yeah, I guess I do want that. Hell, I said _sorry_. And if you knew how rare that shit happened you'd realize my ass must want somethin'.

Mathis, once again, pressed his now-healed lips to Tara's ear.

Mathis: Are you saying an apology from Tara Thornton is so rare it's a black swan?

Tara (whispering back): Damn right.

Mathis: Then I'd better follow my own advice and recognize it for what it is.

Tara: Hmm mmm. Betta. And betta not call me dumb again, either. Don't care if it might be true. Don't say that shit again.

Mathis: We're not starting this again. I didn't say you were dumb. I said you _act_ dumb. Maybe it's better if I say you allow yourself to get caught up in meaningless shit and you don't pay attention to things that are important. How's that?

Tara (whispering): Not much better. You also said one fact proved –

Mathis: Yes, I already told you … the fact that proves you don't pay attention to important things is your inability to get yourself out of this storage room. On our way here, I deliberately punched in the same numeric passcode to open every single door we walked through. That code is one of a special few that provides access to this entire prison complex, which makes it highly valuable to someone like you.

Yet instead of memorizing that code or even noticing me punching it in over and over, you chose to spend your valuable time … and mine … arguing about bullshit like whether I was saying black people don't read. And because your priorities were all fucked up, you made me put myself at risk spelling shit out to you that you should have been able to figure out yourself.

Tara sighed, dismayed by her own behavior. She knew Mathis was right. She suddenly felt shitty about being a bitch and making things hard for someone who was just trying to help her. _But fuck. How was I supposed to know some strange man grindin' on me in a closet was just fakin' so he can help me._

Mathis: Look, at least I'm getting to pretend to make out with you, which is kind of fun. But you should be keeping your eyes and ears open, even if a fucking Klansman is walking you down the hall. You should be focused at all times and ignoring whatever racist or incendiary shit someone says to you.

If you allow someone like me to so easily get under your skin, what are you going to do when you have to deal with fuckers like those guards? Fight them? Those guards will put a wooden bullet through your heart in no time. You got lucky when I came along and stopped them from hurting you. You may not be so lucky next time.

Treat every situation as a chance to learn something that makes you stronger and gets you out of here. Any chance you get to see the inner workings of this facility, pay attention and memorize it. You may not get the chance to see it again.

Tara stared up at Mathis. Something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on reminded her of Lafayette, minus the neck rolling attitude and eyeliner. Maybe it was his no nonsense way of telling her about her shit. Troy Mathis was giving her advice like he was her … family, her brother.

Tara studied Mathis, trying to figure out why he felt so familiar to her, why he seemed more annoyed than afraid of her black vampire ass. She studied the lines and angles of his face, his rich, olive skin tone, his dark, almost black, slightly curly hair. Then the answer suddenly hit her.

Tara: So … who's the black person in your family tree? How far back?

Tara asked the question confidently, like she knew there was someone. Mathis looked surprised, but only slightly. He smiled. Tara felt a wave of warmth coming from him.

Mathis: One great-grandmother, on my father's side.

Tara: Octoroon.

Mathis: Now there's a term you don't hear in New York.

Tara: Well, you hear it Down South every now and then. Is that why you want me to be your special female vampire friend?

Mathis: Maybe. Maybe I've got a favorite cousin, who's really more like my little sister, who's beautiful and strong but acts dumb, just like you. Maybe I don't like those names I heard those guards calling you, or what they wanted to do to you. Maybe I like that you read quality books and kick ass. Maybe I want you to live. Maybe I don't like any of this shit and I'm being subversive.

Mathis leaned back and stared at Tara. They held a silent communication for several long seconds, with Tara simply absorbing the warm feelings she received from Mathis. He popped a chocolate nut. Tara looked at him and shook her head.

Tara: I wouldn't wanna see how you'd be fiendin' if you were trapped in here without those things.

Mathis: Wanna try 'em?

Tara: You know I can't –

Mathis held out his arm, then slowly raised his wrist to Tara's lips. The baby vamp hadn't eaten a meal in two days, and she was hungry. But she hesitated.

Tara: You sure about this?

Mathis: I don't mind. As long as you can stop yourself. You should take it. Wait until you see what they serve vampires in this place. Who knows when you'll get a good meal again?

Tara: Probably won't matter how bad the food is. I'm always hungry.

Mathis: All the more reason to eat when you get the chance.

Tara thought about it, and agreed. She took a moment to prepare herself, so that she would be able to stop feeding. She reminded herself to listen to Troy's heartbeat, to count seconds and think of something disgusting, just like Pam had taught her. Then she smiled a little and distended her fangs.

Troy winced a little when Tara bit into him, then he leaned in to watch Tara feed. He had never been bitten by a vampire. The student in him thought the process was fascinating. He found that after the initial pain, which wasn't so bad, the feeding itself was oddly titillating. Tara's eyes rolled back as she savored Troy's blood. Apparently, feeding was extremely pleasurable, almost orgasmic, for vampires.

Just as Troy started to feel a little light-headed, Tara stopped. She moaned a little in protest. She seemed to be working really hard to resist drawing more blood out of Troy's vein. Finally, she raised her head and retracted her fangs. She licked a tiny blood trail from the side of her mouth, and breathed in.

Mathis: Well?

Mathis and Tara were leaned against the wall. Although he was the one feeling a little weak, Mathis was holding Tara up. She leaned on his chest a little, feeling a little giddy from the euphoria of Troy's chocolate-infused blood.

Tara: Hmmmmm. They're delicious. I used to love chocolate, and nuts were alright, too. So it was … real nice. Thanks. But now what I'm gonna do when I want it again? You're like a damn crack dealer.

Mathis: Well, you and I are friends now. As your friend, I'm happy to give you future feedings of my tasty, cocoa-dusted almond blood. Maybe that promise gives you an incentive to stay calm, and alive. Hmmm?

Tara (smiling a little): Maybe it does.

The door opened, startling Tara. Mathis didn't look surprised. A man wearing a white lab coat entered with a female vampire prisoner. He looked sheepish when he saw Mathis and Tara hugged up against the wall.

Male Scientist: Oh, Sir. Uhm. I didn't know anyone was in here. I was just … uhh.

Mathis took Tara by the arm and pushed past the scientist to exit the room. He said, "I know what you're doing. The same thing we were doing. We're done, for now. Come in."

Mathis gently held Tara's arm and walked down a new hallway. This time when he punched in the code to open the door, Tara paid attention and memorized the number. _1491625._

Tara observed quietly as they walked down two more hallways. She peered into rooms as she strolled by them. She saw testing rooms, for studying vampires, maybe. Gradually, she realized that the prison facility was designed in a circular layout, with guards posted above the walkways of the main level.

Tara also realized that the layout was perfectly designed, as long as vampires were contained and controlled. But for vampires roaming freely about, the winding maze of hallways and the limited field of vision they afforded could be a tactical advantage. The baby vampire, determined to do better this time, stored everything she observed, including that pass code, in a mental file. She would figure out how to use it later.

Tara flipped through the Dale Carnegie book, suddenly wishing she had more time to read it. Mathis looked as if he read her thoughts.

Mathis: I would loan this to you, but it would probably cause you trouble in GenPop.

Tara: Yeah. I've had enough trouble already.

Mathis: It's okay. I've got a trick for you. There are four parts to the book. How to handle people, how to make people like you, how to get people to think how you want them to think, and how to change people's mind. Carnegie summarizes everything he teaches you in bullet points at the end of each section. Just read and memorize those bullets. That's all you need.

Tara: To do what? Control people? All that shit he says sounds like a fancy a way of saying this book teaches you how to control people.

Mathis: Basically, yes. You follow all those little rules in this book, and you can control any human you want. You may even be able to control some vampires, but I'd tread carefully. And better still, the people you control won't even know they're being controlled. And even if they do know, they'll like it. These rules will make you way more powerful than being anti-social and fighting everybody. Try it and see.

Tara: You sayin' I need to make controllin' humans and some vampires a goal?

Mathis: Most definitely. And you should start today.

Tara walked quietly, thinking about the idea that she could control humans and some vampires. She liked the thought. She walked and quickly memorized all the bullet points at the end of all four sections of Carnegie's book. Mathis and Tara entered a bustling hallway.

Tara: Say, is that why I like you now? Did you use that book on me?

Mathis (shaking his head): No. I tried, but you don't fit neatly into a training manual. So, no. Actually, I did almost everything wrong with you, including allowing you to piss me off. But sometimes the exception proves the rule. And you're definitely the exception.

Tara: Hmmm. Guess it's nice to be exceptional at somethin', even if what I am is exceptionally difficult.

Mathis laughed heartily at this. He and Tara walked down the hall, enjoying a moment of comfortable silence while she flipped through the book.

Tara looked up and suddenly remarked, a little concerned, "That scientist back in the storage room is going to think you and I-"

Mathis interjected, "Yes, with any luck not only will he think we're a little item, but he'll also tell lots of the staff that he caught us grinding, sharing blood and making out in the storage room. The more people he tells, the better."

Tara looked confused. She asked, "I thought you said you're in charge of makin' sure everyone follows the rules. Don't that include not grindin' on the prisoners? Why is everybody thinkin' you're a hypocrite somethin' you want to happen?"

Mathis mused, "Because if I'm a straight-laced stickler for the rules in a world where nobody else follows them, I'm a killjoy with a target on my back. If I'm just a garden- variety hypocrite pretending to follow the rules, then people leave me alone and I've got more room to move around. And you've got a little protection."

Mathis and Tara walked down another hallway, then ended up at the GenPop entrance. The baby vamp suddenly realized that Mathis had been an odd but comforting companion, especially after she was able to feel him through her blood.

Mathis said, "Well, here we are. Oh, let me give you a little tip on the latest in prison fashion. When you've got guns like these, show them off."

Troy Mathis rolled up both Tara's sleeves, revealing her muscular, toned arms. He went on, "That fight you won and the dead vampire gives you street cred. These arms will remind them why they shouldn't fuck with you.

Tara stayed put for a moment, steeling herself to go back into the main holding area.

Mathis assured, "Don't worry. You'll see me again. And even when you don't see me … I'll be watching. Don't forget to practice the Dale Carnegie."

Tara smiled, nodded and went inside.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Fuckin' Up Vamp Bitches Gave Tara Some Space and Free Time to Reflect_**

Every vampire in GenPop looked up when the door opened and Tara stepped inside. The baby vamp walked in wearing her best, mean ass game face. She made an intimidating picture as she strolled into the room, glaring, sleeves rolled up, muscle guns blazing.

The brunette vampire and her other bitches in the corner, minus one, watched Tara. Vamp Bitch Harris averted eye contact when Tara matched her stare. Tara made her way over to a table.

Vampires parted to make a path for Tara as she walked. She took a seat on top of a table and rested her feet on what was supposed to be the bench for sitting. She rested her elbows on her knees and clenched her hands in front of her body.

Two vampires, who seemed to be not much older than Tara and a little scared, stayed close to Tara but out of her way. They wanted to be in the orbit of the crazy ass baby vamp who fought two older vamps and got one of them killed. They wanted to be close to the baby vamp who had been covered head-to-toe in silver, and somehow summoned the strength to charge at Harris.

Tara noticed that the remains of Warwick had been removed and the floor scrubbed clean. Before she ponder it for too long, Tara heard the answer.

"They made us clean up the vampire remains, and the blood," said a soft voice. Tara glanced to her left and saw a mousy looking dirty blonde. The blonde looked straight ahead, afraid to make eye contact with Tara.

Tara nodded, but intentionally didn't say anything. She wanted to look tough, and she didn't want to encourage any small talk. The mousy blonde smiled a little and settled into her seat a few feet away from Tara.

Tara inhaled deeply. Pam's scent was still in the room, but much fainter. Tara's maker had been in this room at some point, but not during the time when Tara was getting de-silvered and showered.

Tara didn't know it, but she had just missed her maker when she was first brought into GenPop. Had fate given five more minutes to Pam's stay in the main holding area or taken away five minutes from Tara's check-in time, the paths of maker and progeny would have crossed.

But as fate had it, neither Pam nor Tara was given that precious five minutes to spare. Pam was taken from GenPop to see Dr. Perv Vince, and five minutes later Tara was deposited (the first time) into the main women's holding area.

Tara looked around the room, surveying its inhabitants. The first time around, she barely set foot in the room before she was caught up in a brawl. It seemed that fuckin' up those two vamp bitches from the corner had given Tara some physical space, and some time to herself to think. She gladly took both.

The room was full, but not brimming with vampires, all wary of each other, except for the corner bitches. They looked real chummy. They also looked like they controlled the room. Everyone else avoided them, but made sure they knew where those in-charge bitches were at all times. Tara decided to avoid them, too. And for now, the corner bitches also were avoiding Tara, which was fine with her.

Tara took in the gamesmanship of the corner vamp bitches, the metal encased room she now found herself in, the guards, the steel mesh, the pristine but sterile décor. She suddenly realized she was in fucking prison.

Tara mused bitterly that this shit was just how her luck went. When Pam had showed her how to feed on a human for the first time, her maker promised that she was now at the top of the food chain. Pam promised that no one could hurt Tara, ever again. What a crock of shit.

Pam obviously didn't know Tara Mae Thornton. Bad luck followed her like thirsty teenage fangirls followed Justin Bieber. Just when Tara became a vampire, vampire became the new black. And right now, vampire wasn't black as in 1964 freedom marches in the South black. Vampire was black as in 1825 slavery times pickin' cotton black. _Fuckin' wonderful. _ Tara mused bitterly that being born on Friday the 13th and being turned on Halloween was truly part of a larger trend of misfortune in both her human and now undead life.

Tara again inhaled, teasing from the myriad of neutral and not so pleasant odors permeating the room the faint scent of her maker. She wanted to see Pam, badly. The baby vamp hoped that at some point, Pam would be brought back to this main holding area. For now, all she could do was wait.

Tara was used to being bored. She had a lot of experience with that particular state. But usually, being bored meant relaxing and reading a book to pass the time. But there weren't any books in GenPop, and she needed to at least appear alert, just in case some vamp bitch wanted to try some shit. _Whewww. This shit's gonna get stir crazy real fast._

Tara made herself content to sit and think, but maybe that wasn't such a great idea. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt. This was now the second time she'd done something stupid that had landed her maker in prison. Tara had come to rescue Pam; but as she looked around the room, the baby vamp wasn't so sure about who would be doin' the rescuin'.

The raven-haired beauty was beginning to understand that there was something materially different about this place. It wasn't like being in the Bon Temps jail. The facility in Bon Temps was cold, but the people weren't, maybe because Tara knew them. This place felt dangerous and sinister in comparison. It felt cold, even to a vampire. Tara knew that it wasn't going to be as easy to break out of Vamp Camp as it had been to rescue Pam from Authority headquarters. In fact, the sheer enormity of what she, and the rest of her vampire family was now into, was starting to hit the baby vamp like a boulder.

_Family._

Tara had done a lot of thinking about her vampire family during her first stroll to GenPop, until Asshole 1 silvered her. She had considered and accepted the reality that Eric and Nora were her family, even if she didn't know them that well (especially Nora), and even if she didn't like them (especially Eric).

But there was one person she hadn't fully considered. She had filed away lots of her thoughts about that person for a later time. As Tara looked around the room, which was relatively quiet right now, the baby vamp felt now was as good a time as any to turn her inner attentions to that person.

_Pam._

Tara sighed as she thought about the blow up she had with Pam just before she ran off and left her maker standing by the edge of the road. She couldn't even remember what she had been so pissed about now. All she could do was replay Pam's capture over and over in her mind.

Tara could still hear the LAVTF agents calling for Pam to stand down, demanding to know whether she was vampire or human. Then there was the gunshot. Then there was the sound of her maker's screaming, and the terrible pain shooting into her through the bond.

Tara replayed a mental loop of the agent's voice yelling, "Are you a vampire?" _Vampire or human?" _That was the new dividing line. _Vampire or human? _Vampire's got shot and taken to concentration camps. Humans didn't.

Pam had been telling Tara over and over that this was a brave new world. _Us against them. Vampires against humans._

But Tara still felt more human than vampire, and she couldn't fathom that divide, let alone crossing over to the other side of it. She couldn't conceptualize stepping away from her own humanity. But as she looked around at the edgy vampires and took in the cold, feral expressions of the human guards circling on the walkways above, Tara had the sinking feeling that her viewpoint was soon going to change.

Tara didn't like vampires, not yet. But she also was starting to dislike more and more humans. Then she thought of Troy Mathis and his advice. _Control humans and some vampires_. Tara had promised him she would try doing things a different way.

Tara looked up, and to her surprise she saw Jason's twin gazing down at her. She imagined that his eyes had been on her for a while, and that feeling was what made her look up. Tara started an internal dialogue with herself. She wanted to try the techniques she had read in the book by Dale Carnegie, but she was skeptical, and a little prideful if she was honest.

_Old Tara: Dale Carnegie's advice for controlling people … _

_New Tara: That's not what it's called. It's called how to influence people. _

_Old Tara: Well, what is influencing somebody? It's controllin' them. That's what it is._

_New Tara: And makin' friends. Don't forget that._

_Old Tara: Yeah, that means controllin' people and makin' them like it at the same time. Whatever, it's bullshit. _

_New Tara: Call it bullshit if you want. You're just afraid to try it. _

_Old Tara: I ain't afraid of shit. I do what I do._

_New Tara: Yeah, 'cause doing what you do has worked out oh so great, right? That's why you and your maker are sittin' in a vampire prison._

_Old Tara: It's stupid._

_New Tara: No more stupid than any of the other stupid shit you've done. Losin' your virginity to David Anderson in high school, seeing an exorcist, pining over Jason Stackhouse for years, going off with Maryann, jumping in front of a bullet for Sookie, killing a vampire sheriff without knowing shit about vampire laws – _

_Old Tara: Alright! Alright. Just shut up!_

_New Tara: Then try something, damnit._

_Old Tara: Fine, it's still bullshit._

_New Tara: Nah. Troy says if you do this shit right you can control humans and vampires. That's powerful shit if your baby vamp ass can pull it off._

_Old Tara: Fine. Give me a rule to try._

_New Tara: Hmmm. Got it. I'm givin' your ass somethin' so simple even you can't fuck it up. Rule: smile._

The old Tara would have scowled at that guard. She would have been too prideful to reflect on her mistake, let alone apologize. The old Tara would have given up on a chance to repair a budding friendship with an enemy stranger. But Tara was trying to be a new Tara. So she smiled. To her surprise, Jason's twin smiled back.

Tara stood and kept her eyes on the guard with the kind blue eyes. She tilted her head toward the door, indicating that she wanted to talk to him. Jason's twin thought about it, then shook his head. _No._

The old Tara would have said "fuck it," but the new Tara wasn't giving up so easily. She smiled again, wider, showing her beautiful, perfect pearly whites. She pouted a little and mouthed the word, "Please."

Human Tara, and vampire Tara for that matter, had never used charm as a weapon, preferring the sting of her words, or fists. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Human Tara had used charm as a weapon, really used it effectively, one time, with Franklin Mott. When Franklin has kidnapped her and declared he was going to turn her into a vampire, she acted out of sheer panic and a will to survive.

Tara had pretended to want to be Franklin's vampire bride to buy herself some time and make him trusting enough to untie her. It had worked, allowing her to escape. It would have helped if she had known at the time that bashing a vampire's head in didn't kill it. Then maybe Franklin would have just been dead instead of coming after her as soon as the sun set.

But the failed vampire kill wasn't the point right now. The point was that human Tara had successfully used charm to control a powerful vampire. The charm part of the whole thing had worked perfectly, and Tara had pulled it off by unknowingly using the rules in Dale Carnegie's book. So why couldn't she use those same rules as a vampire to control a human? It was worth a shot.

To Tara's amazement, the guard melted a little right before her eyes as he took in her beautiful smile and her "please." Tara felt a little exhilaration as she watched Jason's twin look around nervously, then head downstairs to talk to her.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara Practices Controlling Humans_**

The door opened and Tara stepped out into the main hallway just outside GenPop, where she faced Jason's twin. He nervously signaled for Tara to put her wrists together and hold up her hands. She complied without protest, and watched as he restrained her with handcuffs made of retractable steel, which housed a silver lining. If Tara acted up, the guard could press a button on a remote affixed to own wrist and immediately silver her.

The guard sounded a little apologetic as he said, "Sorry I gotta do this, but they told me you're supposed to be cuffed anytime you're outside the main holding area. It's because of how you acted earlier. And I don't wanna get in no trouble for not followin' the rules. I shouldn't even be down here talkin' ta ya, but-"

_Rule: Begin talking in a friendly way._

Tara interjected, smiling and speaking softly, "It's alright. You don't have ta explain. If I were you, I'd be keepin' an eye on me, too. I really appreciate you takin' a chance and comin' ta talk to me, especially after how I carried on."

_Rule: Smile._

Tara smiled, and the guard blushed. He finally said after some awkward silence and shuffling on his part, "Well, okay. What'dya wanna talk about?"

_Rule: If you are wrong, admit it quickly and emphatically._

Tara easily replied, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, really sorry … for what I said earlier about how anybody who got hired to do your job must be dumb. That was a terrible thing for me to say, especially since I didn't mean it at all."

The guard thought about it. He still looked a little hurt, but he studied Tara's demeanor. She looked sincere. He said, "Oh, yeah?"

_Rule: Give praise and honest appreciation._

Tara said, "Yeah. I mean, from what I can see of you, seems like you take your job seriously and you try to be fair and kind. Being a guard in a vampire prison is a … hard job, especially interactin' with the prisoners. You could be a jerk, but you weren't with me. You treated me with respect and kindness. I just wanted to say thank you."

The guard blushed again. His hurt seemed to completely dissipate. He shook his head and said, "Just doin' my job, ma'am. I mean … I got this job and it took me outta a meat packin' plant. I was part time only. My family depends on me a lot. My Mom's sick, ya know. Been tryin' ta get on the local police force for years, but ain't no jobs and it's hard. So I'm really hopin' this helps me in the long run. Oh, but … please don't tell nobody. I kinda said this was my dream job."

_Rule: Try honestly to see things from the other person's point of view._

Tara saw the sudden worried look and quickly dispelled the guard's fears. "Don't worry. I promise I won't say nothin'. I know what it's like to be the one tryin' ta take care of your Mama. Believe me. I know a whole lot about that. I've done a lotta dead end jobs, just to make a way, all the while tryin' ta find something better."

The guard took this in and said, "Yeah?"

_Rules: Smile and remember that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language._

Tara replied, "Yeah. What's your name?"

The guard looked pleasantly surprised, then said, "Matthew … well, Matt. Matt for short. I, uhm, don't know if it's good for me to tell ya my last name."

Tara quickly said, "I understand. Matt's just fine. I'm pleased to meet you Matt. My name's Tara. Tara Thornton."

Matt replied, "I know." He blushed.

_Rule: Become genuinely interested in the other person._

Tara asked, "You from Louisiana?"

Matt said, "Yeah, from a small town near Baton Rouge. But we moved to Nawleans. That's where I found the part time job in the meat packin' plant while I waited for a police job. Nawleans got one of the biggest departments in the state."

_Rule: Find common ground._

Tara said, a little excitedly, "You're just like me. I was born and raised in Bon Temps. Stayed there for years, then tried to branch out. I traveled outta state … Atlanta, Houston. But then I came back to Louisiana and settled in New Orleans."

The guard laughed and said, "That's funny. Maybe we passed each other on the street or somethin'."

Tara smiled and agreed, "Maybe we did."

Matt's demeanor suddenly changed as he looked past Tara, down the hall. Tara turned a little and saw several guards approaching.

Matt turned serious and hurriedly took Tara's arm and led her back inside the outer GenPop door. He stood for a moment longer with Tara in the tiny space between the inner and outer doors. Tara noted that Matt removed her handcuffs, even though he wasn't supposed to do that until she was back in the main holding area.

Matt said, "Look, I gotta get back to my post."

_Rules: Smile and make the other person feel important - and do it sincerely._

Tara replied, "I know. Listen, thanks again. I can tell … you're a good man. If this place were fulla people like you … it would still suck."

Both the guard and Tara laughed. Then Tara touched Matt on his arm and squeezed gently as she said, "But it wouldn't suck as much."

Matt leaned in to open the inner door and let Tara back into the main holding area. Tara noted that previously, Matt had been wary of getting close to her, but now he was leaning across her body to open the inner door.

Matt's neck was so close to Tara's face that she could see the vein in his neck throbbing and hear the pulsing blood. The baby vamp willed her fangs not to drop. Thank god she'd already fed, on tasty chocolate infused blood, no less.

Matt said as he leaned, "Listen, Tara. I … uhm, work this shift as my regular. So most times I'll be around when you're awake. If you gotta be taken somewhere, I'll … uhm, try ta make sure I'm the one who does it."

_Rule: Smile and express honest appreciation._

Tara let her facial expression and the hand still touching Matt's arm do most of the talking. Verbally, she merely said in a soft, kind voice, "Thanks."

And with that she returned to GenPop.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara Returns to GenPop and Her Thoughts_**

Tara wiped the smile off her face as soon as she turned around and stepped into GenPop. She wasn't at all surprised to see the corner bitches staring at her, tracking her every move. The brunette was smirking, or smiling a little. Tara couldn't tell which. The baby vamp thought for a brief moment about smiling back, then decided against it. Not every bitch could be charmed, and old ass vampires definitely fell into the "hard-to-charm" category.

Tara decided to celebrate her one small victory with Matt, the guard. That was enough, for now. She took her same spot on the same table, legs on the bench, elbows on knees, hands clinched in front of her, game face on.

_Hmm, what was I thinkin' about?_

Tara had thought about the ironies of her life, her human family, and her new vampire family. She thought for a moment about exploring some of those subjects in her "saved for later" memory file. _Missing the sun? No. Franklin? No, big no. Eggs. No fuckin' way. Pam trying to kill her when she was human?_

Tara noticed a pattern in her thoughts. She had run through a list of fucked up relationships. She winced at the idea of putting Eggs in the category of "fucked up," because he wasn't. He had issues and pain, but he wasn't fucked up. The situation was fucked up, so fucked up that now, looking back, Tara wasn't even sure the whole thing had been real. But the feelings she still carried for Eggs definitely were real.

Tara's mind raced through all the people she'd slept with, been with, had feelings for. The list was longer than she wanted it to be. She then thought of the people who had felt something back, for her. That list was shorter than she wanted it to be. It basically came down to three people – Eggs, Naomi.

_And Pam._

Tara remembered Eggs for a moment. His smile loomed large in her mind like the sun. It was her favorite thing about him. He had the same wonderful quality that Gran Stackhouse had. He could walk into a room and light it up. For a spell, Tara thought maybe Eggs would be her own private sunshine, someone who loved her and made her laugh, and smile all the time.

Tara frowned as her mind shifted from a giant image of a smiling Eggs to a tearful, distraught Eggs. She remembered Eggs trying to sort through his memories, the horrible things he'd done at Maryann's behest, his guilt and torment. Eggs' smile wasn't real. The Eggs Tara met wasn't real. He was painted over, with only one coat. Just a scratch of the surface of that smile, and you could see what was underneath – things so horrible that Eggs wanted to … _die._

Tara remembered where she was and fought back tears. She played with the thought. _Eggs wanted to die. _

Jason told Tara he shot Eggs. She couldn't remember exactly what Jason had told her. Looking back, she realized that Jason had tried to tell her about Eggs a time or two before he actually said the words.

_Sometimes you try to save someone and you can't. _Tara remembered Jason saying this to her when she was thanking him for saving her life, for killing Franklin. She didn't know what he was talking about at the time, but now she did.

And then she kissed him. She kissed Jason Stackhouse. Was it because she was so emotionally devastated about losing Eggs, and being attacked by Franklin? Maybe, but that wasn't all of it. She had been crushin' on Jason Stackhouse since she was in elementary school. But he didn't love her. He loved her, but not like _that._

And then Jason told her he killed Eggs. And then Tara tried to kill herself. _Why?_

Because at the time she felt so alone, and like she couldn't trust anyone. Everyone she thought she knew had let her down. It was the same feeling she had when she came to after being shot and realized she was a vampire, and learned it was Sookie and Lafayette who'd turned her. Tara breathed deep and sighed. She pushed all those thoughts out of her mind.

_Sometimes you try to save someone and you can't. _

Tara played around with Jason's words. She thought about Eggs, and the state he was in after Sookie helped him resurface his lost memories.

_Eggs wanted to die. _Tara was now convinced of that.

Isn't that what Andy Bellefleur had told her? _He was bound and determined to die. _

It didn't matter that Eggs was less direct about dying than taking a bottle full of pills, like Tara. Not everybody was as direct as Tara.

True to her word, Tara still missed Eggs. There would always be a place in her heart and mind that held him. She wasn't sure how real he was, but she was positive about the sunshine he'd given her. And for that, he was worth rememberin'. But Tara still didn't know if Eggs was real or she was real when they were together, because of Maryann.

Discountin' the unreality of her love affair with Eggs took Tara down to two people, just two people who had loved her back. Not Jason. Not Franklin. Maybe not even Eggs. Not Sam.

She'd slept with Sam. She'd liked him. Sam was a likable guy, but he didn't like Tara. That is to say, Sam liked Tara, cared for her. Just not like _that. _No. _That_ … in Sam's heart, was reserved for Sookie, who didn't even fuckin' want it. She wanted a vampire, an asshole slave-holdin' vampire named Bill Compton.

_Just not like that_.

How many times had Tara heard those words? She liked somebody, wanted somebody to love her. They loved her or liked her. _Just not like that. _

The first person Tara had ever met, when she was lucid and not under the influence of Bon Temps, who'd liked her back was Naomi.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara and Naomi_**

_Tara strolled into the gym on Treme' Street and looked around. She didn't know why she stepped inside, other than the sign on the outside of the building and the interestin' looking people coming in and out. She'd been in New Orleans for less than a month, and she was lookin' for a place to hang out. And she wanted to punch somethin'._

_She took in the sweat and sounds of the room. There were people lifting weights, hurling kettle bells, jumping rope. And to her surprise, there were two women in a ring sparring. Tara walked over to see the match. _

_An elderly black man with salt and pepper hair, maybe early seventies but exceptionally fit, was clutching the ropes around the ring. He stood, animated and yelling at a pretty Asian woman as she sparred. A pipe dangled from his mouth. It danced on his lips as he yelled._

_"Come on, MiMi! You know betta than that. When she charges you from the left, take it straight on and then sweep. Watchu doin'? That's shit! If I wanna shit, I go home." The old man kept at it, looking like he was gonna have a heart attack._

_The Asian woman, MiMi, recovered from the other woman's strikes, then gripped her by the throat and slammed her into the mat. Tara couldn't help but react to the sound of the woman thudding onto her back. The shit sounded painful. _

_MiMi helped the woman up and shook her hand. She casually walked over to the old man and glared down at him. The look said, "See. What are you complaining about? I beat her ass, didn't I?"_

_The old man knew what the look meant and answered, "Don't mean shit, MiMi. I know you can beat her. I want you to beat her the way I taught ya. And ya didn't do that, so it's still shit. And if I wanna shit-"_

_MiMi cut him off with, "you go home, because you hate shitting in public places. I know Scottie. Fuck."_

_Scottie shot back, "Watch your mouth. When you do what I tell ya, then you get ta cuss. Otherwise, no. Keep this up, and you not gonna be ready in two weeks. That choke and pound shit ain't gonna work against Sanchez."_

_Scottie and MiMi were at a standoff. MiMi grabbed a towel that was hanging over the top rope and wiped away sweat. As she was wiping her brows, she looked down and noticed Tara for the first time. She glared. Tara instinctively matched the woman's glare with one of her own._

_MiMi wasn't in a good mood. She asked, "You lookin' for a fight?"_

_Tara didn't mean for it to come out of her mouth, but sheer reflex in response to a challenge made her immediately say, "Maybe."_

_MiMi smirked, and Tara did an internal check. Why did I just say that? _

_Tara had no intentions of getting into anybody's ring and fightin'. She'd just come into this place because she was curious. But something about the way MiMi asked if she was looking for a fight was … it was more inviting than threatening. Maybe a little flirtatious? Tara shook off the crazy feeling._

_MiMi stole glances at Tara, but she still wasn't happy. She said in that same, oddly challenging but inviting way, "Well, you came to the right place. Get in."_

_Tara hadn't been expecting to get into anybody's ring. She was just talkin' shit. She shook her head and said, "Nah. I'm good. Look, I just came inside to take a look and-"_

_"And there isn't much to see. Besides, it's much more fun to do it than to watch," MiMi cut Tara off. "Get in the ring. I won't bite."_

_Now MiMi looked downright sultry, so much so that Tara would have been absolutely certain about the look if the pretty Asian woman had been a man. Regardless of the doubts in Tara's mind, her body knew exactly what MiMi's look meant. _

_Ms. Thornton felt a sudden, jolting quiver in her lower abdomen. Her body responded to the pull of MiMi's words and appraising stare. And the brunette wasn't taking no for an answer._

_Tara looked over at Scottie, who was sucking on his pipe and looking slightly intrigued. He tilted his head, gesturing for Tara to get inside the ring. Tara shook her head, but then relented when MiMi and Scottie kept staring expectantly. _

_Tara shrugged off her backpack and dropped it on the floor. Thank god she was wearing loose fitting sweatpants (black) and a tank top (white). Her bra wasn't an exercise bra, but it would have to do._

_Tara climbed between the ropes and faced MiMi, who was wearing form fitting racing green cotton shorts and a black sports bra. Her hand was pinned back in a somewhat disheveled ponytail. Tara followed suit and pulled her own dark tresses back off her face. She stood there, waiting for something to happen._

_Scottie instructed MiMi, "Try some basics. See what she feels like."_

_MiMi smiled mischievously and walked over to Tara. She grabbed her, locking her surprisingly strong arms around Tara's more muscular ones in a tight, slightly uncomfortable hug. Tara just stood there._

_MiMi whispered in Tara's ear, but loud enough for Scottie to hear, "What the hell are you doing?"_

_Tara turned her head in MiMi's direction, but the hold kept Tara from seeing her opponent's face. So Tara looked at Scottie while talking to both him and MiMi. "I told you. I didn't want to fight. I've never done this before."_

_MiMi asked, still holding Tara tightly, "You've never been chased before? Caught? Had someone trying to do something to you that you didn't want?"_

_Tara felt that flutter in her stomach again, but this time it was the painful memories MiMi was evoking. It was like she was reading her mind. Could this brash stranger see all the things that had chased Tara out of Bon Temps? _

_Despite all that Tara was feeling on the inside, she simply responded, "Yeah."_

_MiMi replied, "Then you've done this before. Pretend I'm one of those people who chased you or tried to do something to you. Resist me."_

_Tara tried to break MiMi's hold. She moved left, and MiMi countered. She moved right, and there was MiMi, readjusting the hold. She faked left and moved right, but MiMi easily predicted her move and tightened her grip. This was frustrating._

_MiMi whispered, quieter, but Scottie could still hear, "Maybe you find me irresistible."_

_Scottie chuckled a little. Tara gasped. MiMi's lips pressed against her ear, and the way she said the words, sent a jolt of arousal between Tara's legs. The feeling was sudden, strong and unmistakable. _

_MiMi helped a little, "You don't have to play nice, you know. Anything is fair game. You just want to break my h-"_

_Before MiMi could react, Tara stomped the brunette's foot and pulled at her arms, unwrapping them. She threw in an elbow jab to MiMi's side for good measure. _

_Tara had completely broken the hold, and she heard the sweet sound of MiMi grunting a little from the jab. When she turned to face MiMi, the brunette was rubbing her side and smiling. Tara smiled back._

_Scottie was smilin', too. He bounced his pipe on his lips excitedly as he said, "She got a little fire in her belly once you get her goin', don't she? She might be a natural."_

_MiMi agreed, "She might be."_

_Tara had fire in her belly, but it wasn't being created by a love of sparring at the moment, although maybe MiMi's hug hadn't been so bad in retrospect._

_Scottie instructed Tara, "MiMi loves to come atcha from your right, with a little turn off her left. Watch for that and try to avoid her and counter."_

_Tara paid attention to Scottie, then turned to face MiMi, who was squaring off again. Tara waited for her opponent to charge. She parried and circled, and watched for an attack from her right that looked like what Scottie described. When she saw it, Tara stepped further to her right and gave MiMi a quick jab to her left side._

_Scottie cheered a little, "That's the way to do it. That was real good. You ain't never done this before?"_

_Tara shook her head, "No."_

_Scottie kept on, "Well, you sure do seem like a natural. Has anybody complimented you on how well you follow directions?"_

_Tara shook her head. She couldn't help but laugh, a rich full-bodied chortle. If Scottie only knew how ridiculously hilarious that was. Tara Thornton most certainly did not follow directions well. But maybe there was such a thing as making a brand new start._

_Scottie mused, "Well then, must be me. I can teach anybody. I could teach you. I wouldn't mind it if you came here and spent some time with me."_

_"It must be you. But I don't know about-," Tara agreed, still laughing._

_MiMi said, "Don't be so quick to turn him down. Scotland "Scottie" Grima doesn't get excited about teaching very many people. I'm lucky to be one of them. Scottie's a street fighter, one of the best. Back in the day, he was the king of New Orleans street fighting. The whole French Quarter was called Scotland's Yard._

_Tara was impressed, "Oh yeah?"_

_"Oh yeah," bragged Scottie._

_MiMi walked over to Tara, openly appraising her. She held out a hand and said, "My name's Naomi."_

_Tara squeezed Naomi's hand and said, "I thought it was MiMi."_

_Naomi replied, "It is to Scottie. He always has to give people a nickname. He claims he can't remember real names, but I think he's full of shit and just likes to piss people off. What's your name?"_

_There was a pause, and then Tara said …_

_"Toni."_

**_# # # # #_**

_Tara was on pins and needles. Her heart was racing. The match was close. Too close to call. A few times it looked as if Naomi was going to lose, but she broke her opponent's holds and recovered. Scottie was next to Tara - sitting, standing, jumping, yelling, dancing his pipe on his lips. _

_Tara watched as Naomi swept her opponent on the back of the leg. At the same time, she moved forward full force and grabbed the woman by the neck, cutting off her windpipe. Naomi slammed the other woman hard into the mat, then punched her repeatedly, until the referee broke it up._

_Next Tara saw the referee holding up Naomi's hand in victory. She and Scottie were cheering, and Tara tried to remember how she'd gotten there, in the middle of a crowded underground arena, cheering on Naomi. She couldn't fully explain it. All she knew was that since that first impromptu sparring match in that Treme' Street gym, she and Naomi had seen each other every day. That was just over two weeks ago._

_Naomi, Tara and Scottie went out to celebrate with dinner and drinks. Then Scottie took himself home, but not before dishing out one last bit of advice. "You won tonight MiMi, and so we celebratin'. But tomorrow we get back to work, 'cause you still ain't doin' what I taught ya."_

_"Goodnight, Scottie," Tara replied respectfully._

_"See ya tomorrow?" Scottie asked, raising his brows expectantly._

_Tara smiled easily and nodded. "See ya tomorrow."_

_Scottie nodded, then remembered, "Oh, we still goin' shootin' this weekend?"_

_"Yes," Tara agreed._

_The old man smiled and said, "Good. Night NiNi."_

_Naomi frowned and asked, "Goin' shootin'?" Naomi mimicked Scottie's voice. "What the fuck is that about?" _

_Tara explained, "Scottie asked me if I wanted to learn to shoot and I said I wanted to. What's the big deal? Besides, he says every woman should own a gun and know how ta shoot it."_

_Naomi asked, "And you agree with that?"_

_Tara nodded unapologetically, "Actually, I do. Just, quit makin' so much of it, okay. Me and Scottie just hangin' out together, that's all."_

_Naomi added, "And shooting guns."_

_Tara agreed, nonplussed, "Yeah."_

_Then she gave Naomi that look with those doe eyes that always melted her, even after such a short time of being together. The brunette let it go and mused, "I think Scottie is trying to make you the son he never had."_

_"Well, that's between us. Butt out," Tara teased. _

_Tara had to pause for a minute, because she started to say it would be okay if Scottie was her father because she never had one, and that might be nice. But she caught herself when she remembered that "Toni" had a father._

_Fuck, it was getting hard to keep up with all the lies._

_Naomi teased back, "Well, you're in, NiNi. Scottie doesn't give you a nickname unless he thinks you're going to stick around."_

_"So does that mean I'm stuck?" Tara teased._

_"Only if you want to be," Naomi answered. Tara got the feeling the pretty brunette wasn't talkin' just about smelly gyms and cage fightin'._

_Tara and Naomi walked in comfortable silence to Tara's place. Tara thought there were a couple of times when Naomi started to say something, then stopped herself. The brunette seemed anxious, which was odd because in the two weeks Tara had known her, nothing seemed to make the seasoned fighter nervous._

_Tara also was off in thought. She was trying to understand Naomi, or more specifically her friendship with Naomi. It was budding and fun and comfortable and exciting all at the same time. They talked and laughed and seemed to immediately get each other. And something else, something that felt … more than friendly._

_Tara compared Naomi to Sookie to see if that would help her place Naomi in some kind of category. Sookie was her best friend, or she had been. Tara didn't know whether to think of Sookie in the past or present tense, because Sookie was missing. That was part of the reason Tara left Bon Temps and its craziness. She had had too many heartaches, and Sookie being missing was kinda the last straw._

_But Tara decided she was gonna talk about and think about Sookie in the present tense. Sookie IS her best friend. She's alive and too selfish to call somebody, and off doing some vampire shit. _

_Tara remembered how being friends with Sookie felt. Not just friends. Best friends. What she felt for Naomi felt nice and comfortable, like her and Sookie. But Sookie was Sookie. This thing with Naomi just felt … different. More._

_Naomi followed Tara into Tara's apartment. Tara suddenly thought about Scottie being so cranky, even after a big win, and asked, "Scottie's a little hard ass, huh?"_

_Naomi looked off in thought. She said, "Huh? Oh you mean because of how he was acting tonight?"_

_"Yeah," Tara said._

_Naomi explained, "Yeah, but he's right, really. I won tonight. Barely, but I won. And I used my go to move. He hates that."_

_Tara mused, "It seemed like he woulda rather you lost, just so you learned your lesson."_

_"Bingo," Naomi agreed. "Scottie would have preferred that, even if it meant he didn't get his well-earned thousand bucks. Because if I'd lost, then I'd be more serious about practicing the new moves he's been trying to teach me."_

_"So you not gonna try since you just won four thousand dollars?" Tara asked._

_Naomi shook her head, "No, I'm gonna try. I really am. But I'm gonna try because Scottie wants me to try, not because I want to try. I won't try for me until I get my ass kicked one good time."_

_Tara smiled and asked, "You smart, and you know this. So why your ass gotta get whipped for you ta learn somethin', woman?"_

_"Scottie says it's human nature," Naomi said. "He says there's good, better and best out there for all of us. Most of us can't appreciate the better, until we've lost the good. And we can't appreciate the best, until we've lost the better. Some us can't appreciate the best until we've lost everything else."_

_"Well, that's fucked up and scary," Tara protested._

_"Why?" Naomi asked._

_Tara said, "Because what happens if you're a first class fuck up? What happens if you get the best, but you don't know it and you lose it? What happens after that? Do you start over at good? Or worse?" _

_Tara asked the questions a little frantically. She wanted to know the answers, for deeply personal reasons. She always seemed to lose the few good things. She didn't want to lose the best things, too._

_Naomi said, "No, it doesn't work that way. If you lose the best, you will just appreciate the best when it comes again."_

_Tara didn't find this answer very satisfying. She knew she'd left Bon Temps for an easier life, but Naomi's answer seemed too easy. Tara had never lost the best and gotten the best again, at least not that she could remember. Hell, she couldn't even remember having the best. Maybe she had only known the good, although New Orleans and Naomi definitely seemed like better, at the very least._

_Tara shook her head and said, "No. That don't seem right to me. Once you lose the best thing you ever had, you can't replace that. You can't just find another best thing. How is that possible?"_

_For some reason, Tara felt herself getting upset. She could see memories from Bon Temps off in the distance of her mind. They were flowing toward the front of her mind like a raging river, threatening to break the dam created by the levees around New Orleans, her new name and new life. _

_Tara felt a slight panic, as she felt the river of Bon Temp memories and feelings push outward, forming a pool of tears beneath her eyelids. Naomi was standing in front of Tara, looking concerned. _

_Naomi asked gently, "You really care about the answer to this question, huh?"_

_Tara, somewhat surprised at herself, admitted, "Seems silly, but I guess I do."_

_Before Tara knew what was happening, Naomi kissed her. The first kiss was soft, a whisper on her lips, so fluttery Tara almost convinced herself that it didn't happen._

_The second kiss was firmer, more emphatic._

_Tara automatically opened her lips slightly. She opened her eyes to take in Naomi, who was staring intently. Tara could feel her heart racing. Naomi's eyes asked a question. Tara answered it by leaning up and in and taking Naomi's lips. This third kiss was irrevocable, and flowing, like the river of Bon Temps memories in Tara's mind._

_Tara didn't remember how long she and Naomi stood, kissing, exploring each other's mouths with their tongues, caressing each other. However long it had been, it was sufficient to make the unpleasant memories that threatened to come crashing forward recede into the distance. It was enough to help Tara strike off options in her search to place Naomi in the right category. As she tasted the soft sweetness of Naomi's lips, Tara knew now, for certain, that the category wasn't "friend."_

_When they finally broke the flow of that third kiss, Tara and Naomi stared at each for several minutes. For Tara, the world seemed to spin faster. She tried to process what the hell had just happened. _

_Tara wasn't sure that she'd ever entertained the thought of being with a woman romantically, sexually. But she wasn't dismissing what this was now that it had come to her. _

_Tara realized that she didn't need a category or a label for Naomi. Everything about that kiss felt good and … right. This woman and this city, felt like home. Maybe that was all that she needed to know._

_To break the silence, Tara teased, "You never answered my question?"_

_"Yes, I did," Naomi teasingly objected as she kissed Tara lightly._

_"What was the answer again? 'Cause see, I was a little busy and I missed it," Tara joked, kissing Naomi back._

_Naomi turned more serious as she said, "The answer is … there is no ONE best thing. There are plenty of best things, potentially, because there are plenty of THINGS."_

_Tara shook her head between kisses and asked, "How?"_

_Naomi answered between kisses, "Because it's up to us to make the best of things. And sometimes, the best thing is right in front of us. We just have to see it."_

**_# # # # #_**

_Tara was nervous as fuck. She tried to rock away the jitters. Nothin'. The jitters were still rattling her from the inside out. She tried to breathe in calmness and push out fear with an exhale. Didn't work. _

_As Tara looked around at the crowd, and across the ring at her opponent, this all seemed like a really bad idea. It was one thing to play fight, even a little rough playin', in a gym with Scottie yelling instructions and Naomi sneakin' feels and kisses every time she topped Tara on the mat. It was another thing to face down some angry bitch who saw Tara as the only thing standing between her and three hundred dollars._

_Tara looked across the ring at the woman. She was glaring, but Tara recognized something else … something she only started paying attention to after she started dating Naomi. The woman was checking her out, and she liked what she saw in Tara. The woman glared, but that hard stare gave away part of what she was really feelin'._

_Tara felt her lips curl into the slightest of smiles. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Fighting was fun. Fighting for money was even better. She had learned a lot about reading people and body language during the past month, more than she thought she knew._

_She heard the bell ring. It sounded far off. Everything sounded far off, but that was a good thing according to Scottie. _

_He said, "Yeah, I'm gonna be over on the side yellin' at ya, but if you payin' attention to my shit instead of focusin' on your opponent, you gonna get your ass beat. Just focus on doin' your best in that ring for three long ass minutes."_

_Tara drowned everything out and focused on her opponent. She knew her legs and arms were moving, but everything felt weird, like she was having some kind of out of body experience. Her heart wasn't racing anymore. She was calm on the inside. She blocked and punched, and landed strikes a lot. It all felt good._

_Tara's opponent, a fierce looking black woman, landed a punch, smiled at her, then blew her a kiss. The smile and the air kiss hurt more than the punch. It made Tara mad. It was the second round. Tara saw the clock counting down from eighteen seconds. Tara decided to play a game with herself called, "How many punches can I hit a bitch with in fifteen seconds."_

_Tara charged, then skirted left, then swept the woman's leg. She punched her to the mat, then followed the first punch with a flurry of fists. She was counting in her head. Five, six, seven. Tara was still punching the air when she felt the referee pulling her up and raising her hand. _

_Tara felt herself smiling now. Sound came rushing back in, as she heard cheering and the referee saying, "The winner!"_

_Tara felt something warm, like the sun, coming from below. She looked down and saw Scottie and Naomi. Naomi, her girlfriend, was smiling up at her. Tara didn't know how the hell this was possible, but for the briefest moment, Naomi looked like … Eggs. She knew what it was. It was that smile._

_Even in New Orleans, even with Naomi and her new life, Tara always felt a little sad all the time. It wasn't on the surface anymore, but Tara felt it, especially at night when she was alone with her thoughts. But at that moment, for the first time, Tara felt a tangible amount of that sadness disappear. _

_It's up to us to make the best of things, and to see it when the best thing is standing – or sitting - right in front of us._

**_# # # # #_**

_Tara gazed at her trophy, still unable to believe that she'd actually won a cage fight. _

_She was freshly showered and her stomach was full of delicious Cajun food. Celebratory dinners were a nice tradition. She and Naomi seemed to be starting a lotta nice traditions, like always going home together and never being apart. They alternated staying at one person's place or the other. They seemed to navigate being together easily, just naturally figuring it out._

_Tara mused, "I still can't believe that's mine."_

_Naomi spooned Tara, looking down from the trophy to the side of Tara's face. She kissed a dark, smooth cheek and said, "Well, it is. And the three hundred dollars. You earned it. You've been working really hard."_

_Tara shook her head and said, "No, I haven't. I've been goin' to the gym to feel you up and kiss you, while I pretend to be fightin'. Then I go to work at that bar and count the hours until I can hug and kiss you again. Then it's time to get off work and I come home and feel you up and kiss you until I fall asleep. And the next day it's the same thing. 'Cept for two weekdays, when I can basically hug and kiss you all day."_

_Naomi smiled and said, "Sounds like you've got it pretty good. Getting to hug and kiss on me all the time."_

_The brunette rolled Tara over onto her back and whispered between kisses, "Speaking of which … MiMi and NiNi sittin' in a tree …"_

_Tara was lost in kisses. She pulled Naomi on top of her and enjoyed the warmth and safety, the feeling of being blanketed by her strong, fearless fighter. Tara was fiercely protective. She was often the one protecting those she loved. This was the first time that she'd known someone who made her feel totally protected. She relaxed and closed her eyes. It all felt so good._

_Tara was somewhere in her head, swirling in delicious Naomi kisses, singing a song about feeling good:_

_Moments that we share, special times alone_

_Just don't ever change cause I'm so into you_

_And you know it feels good_

_To know that you're there by my side (It feels good)_

_To know that you're there for me (It feels good)_

_To know that you'll always be around (It feels good)_

_To know that you'll love me for me_

_Who sang that song? Oh yeah. Tony Toni Tone._

_"Toni? Toni?" _

_It took Tara a while to process that Naomi was trying to get her attention, because she still hadn't trained herself to hear the name "Toni" and think about herself. She still didn't respond automatically. The name wasn't hard wired into Tara enough to startle her out of her thoughts._

_Tara focused on Naomi, who looked absolutely beautiful. She replied, "Oh, I'm sorry."_

_Naomi half-teased, "Maybe I should stop kissing you so much. You're getting bored."_

_"Actually, I was thinkin' about you. How happy you make me," Tara replied quickly, stealing a few kisses._

_"You make me happy, too. Really happy," Naomi confessed between kisses._

_The kiss deepened, as it often did. Tara felt Naomi's hand pushing up her tank top, caressing her taut, smooth stomach. Tara wasn't wearing a bra, so Naomi's hand easily made its way up the smooth soft peaks of firm, dark breasts. Tara grabbed Naomi's hand when she felt the soft pads of the brunette's fingers making a delicate circle around dusky nipples._

_Naomi stopped kissing Tara and asked, "Are you having second thoughts about this? About us? I know this is your first time with a woman and-"_

_"No," Tara interjected. "No. I don't have doubts about you, or this. It's just …"_

_Naomi was resting her head on her hand and watching Tara intently, trying to follow where she was going. She waited for Tara to finish, then asked, "It's just?"_

_Tara sighed and said, "It's just that maybe you'll have doubts about me. You don't even know me. I didn't plan for this, any of it. There's things I need ta tell you, and maybe I need time … to figure some stuff out."_

_Naomi asked, "Are you in a relationship with someone else?"_

_"No," Tara answered easily._

_Naomi asked, "Did you commit a crime? Did you do time in prison?"_

_"No," Tara answered._

_Naomi queried, "Are you on the run from something or someone? Is a big burly boyfriend or lady stalker, or someone else going to knock on my door one day and try, operative word being TRY, to beat my ass?"_

_"No," Tara laughed a little._

_Naomi feigned seriousness. She asked, "Do you have an STD? Did you come to New Orleans to die of a terminal illness? Do you have a death wish? Is that why you want to do cage fighting?_

_Naomi was kissing and tickling Tara as she asked these questions. Tara fought the tickling but not the kisses, and giggled out, "The answers are no. No. I used to, but not anymore. And I did not want to do cage fighting. I was dragged into the ring by some crazy woman who I now know just wanted to hug me and feel me up."_

_"What can I say? I know the best thing when it's right in front of me." Naomi turned truly serious, and so did her kisses._

_Tara worried, "I have things I should … tell you."_

_Naomi replied, "And I trust that you will tell me, when you're ready. I just need to know you don't have an issue with this. With us."_

_Tara shook her head, "No, but what if you learn more about me and decide you have a problem with this? With me? What if you realize that I'm all fucked up?" _

_Naomi shook her head, smiled and reassured, "We're all fucked up, and none of us are."_

_Tara started to relax a little. She started to feel like this might be okay. She teased, "Why do you always say shit like that? You sound like Confucious."_

_Naomi poked Tara in the stomach. "Oh really, I sound like Confucius because I'm Chinese, is that it? Suppose that I said you sound like Frederick Douglas because you're black? Why can't I sound like Aristotle, or Plato?"_

_Tara laughed and said, "Okay, okay. Fine, I'm racist. I got problems with Asians, especially Chinese women."_

_Naomi raised her eyebrows and accused, "Yes, finally. So you admit it now."_

_They were moving on the bed, tussling and tickling and kissing._

_Tara replied, "No, but you keep tellin' me I do, and how can I defend myself? If I could prove to you I don't, then I would."_

_Naomi suddenly stopped tussling and tickling Tara. She was still teasing, but the tone changed to something more sensual. _

_The sexy brunette resumed caressing Tara under her tank top as she whispered between kisses, "I know a way you can prove it. I know how you can show me you don't have a problem with Asians, or with a certain Chinese American hottie, in particular."_

_Tara murmured, "Oh yeah?"_

_Naomi flicked a tongue over and inside Tara's ear. "Yeah, I've been wondering. Maybe that's why you keep stopping me. Maybe you don't think black and yellow is such a great combination."_

_Tara wasn't pushing Naomi's roaming hands away anymore. She breathed softly, "That's not true. Lots of great things are black and yellow."_

_Noami agreed, "Yes, tell me."_

_"Uhm, school buses," Tara blurted out, then giggled. She didn't know why school buses came to mind, but they did. _

_Naomi mused, "School buses? I know you love to read, but-"_

_"I didn't love school that much. Got picked on … some." Tara paused, and Naomi processed what she said about being picked on. _

_Tara could see Naomi's mind working. She kind of hoped her girlfriend would ask her a question, make her talk about who she was and where she came from. But Noami let it go. It seemed she'd decided to give Tara the space to reveal what she wanted in her own time._

_Tara continued, "But I liked the field trips. We went to museums and stuff, learned new things."_

_Naomi smiled and lifted Tara's top a bit more. She whispered, "Well, you and I could explore each other, learn new things about each other. What do you think about taking that kind of trip?"_

_"I think you're a trip," Tara giggled._

_Naomi whispered back, "I am, and I want you to cum with me. Get it."_

_"Nasty," Tara quipped._

_"Yes," Naomi agreed. "Give me another one. Something else yellow and black?"_

_"Uhm," Tara thought. "Road signs."_

_Naomi teased, "I see you're still rolling down the road in your school bus, huh? Okay, well road signs are good things. They help you get where you're going. Like this … this little line going up and down your stomach is a road sign. I can take it north."_

_Noami traced a path north, caressing up and over Tara's breasts. She continued, "Or I can take it this way and go … south. I like going north. I really do. But I think I'm going to really looove going south."_

_Tara trembled as Naomi traced a line down to her boxers, then gently slid a finger inside the waistband, drawing it down until soft dark curls peeked out. She placed a firm hand on top of Naomi's exploring fingers. Tara's hand caressed, but didn't stop the activity of the pale hand underneath. _

_Tara felt nervous, and searched for something to say. "Sunflowers."_

_Naomi kept playing with Tara's waistband, and those dark curls peeking out. She kissed Tara and whispered, "Sunflowers are the most beautiful in the SUN light. They are SUN flowers, after all. I hear morning light is best. I think you and I would look just as beautiful, all curled up in the nude, a human sunflower bathed in sunlight. And we both know that your bedroom window … right over there … gets the best morning light. We only have to wait about six hours."_

_Tara's top was more off than on, and now two sets of hands were exploring and caressing. Naomi kissed Tara, gently parting and licking her full, soft lips. Tara was wet between her legs. Dripping. Her arousal had been growing ever since Naomi first rolled her over._

_As she felt deft fingers playing in the moist curls just below her waistband, Tara suddenly remembered the most obvious thing that was black and yellow. She blurted out breathily, "Bumblebees. How could I forget bumblebees?"_

_But Naomi was too far gone. She didn't stop kissing Tara, or winding the fingers of one hand through Tara's thick raven tresses. Or gently roaming the middle and index fingers of her other hand between the intricate folds of Tara's pussy. _

_Naomi did manage to breathe out, "Bumblebees. Yes, the birds and the bees. That's what I'm thinking about right now."_

_No more talking. Tara didn't show apprehension as she lifted Naomi's top above her head and off. She didn't pause as she pulled down her lover's sweatpants. She did catch her breath, then waited for her own exhalations to resume, when Naomi stripped her completely nude in just a few seconds and rolled her onto her stomach._

_Tara instinctively raised her body slightly, as Naomi's hands reached underneath her and caressed her breasts and then pressed firmly against her clit. The sensations were almost too intense to process – the feel of Naomi's kisses all over her neck and back, skillful hands exploring … Naomi's lithe, warm body sprawled across her back. _

_Franklin flashed in her mind. He was the last person she's slept with, and he was cool to the touch. Naomi wasn't Franklin, not even close. Franklin was cold and dead. Naomi was warm, and very much alive. Tara pushed Franklin out of her mind._

_Or rather, Naomi's fingers pushed Franklin out of Tara's mind as they gently opened her up. Tara squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the building tension emanating from between her legs. She rolled onto her side and Naomi rolled with her. _

_Sunflowers. _

_Tara was black Fruit and Naomi was yellow Flower. _

_Fruit and Flower kissed and caressed each other. Fruit slowly spread her strong, dark, muscular thighs, and Flower's fingers thrust slowly, gently, inside Fruit's wet center. _

_Yellow fingers withdrew, coated with black Fruit's sweet nectar. _

_Flower's fingers circled Fruit's hardened seed, fast then slow, and coated it with Fruit's own juices. Fruit moaned, and writhed onto her back, spreading her legs even wider and moving her head slowly back and forth like petals wafting in a light wind ._

_Tara had never been a sunflower, not even in one of those plays in elementary school. But she was one now, and she knew exactly what to do. It was instinctive. It felt right. _

_It felt comforting and safe, until Fruit opened its eyes and met the penetrating gaze of Flower. Flower's confident fingers stroked her perfectly, and to Tara it felt like some mystical connection reverberated between those fingers making her little seed throb so deliciously, and those dark brown eyes that so frighteningly penetrated her. Tara invited one, but resisted the other._

_"You're so beautiful, Toni. You feel so good." Naomi's raspy whisper was brimming with barely contained arousal. And those dazzling but dangerous eyes were literally boring a line straight inside of Tara, then slicing and laying her bare. _

_The funny thing was, Tara liked the laying bare part of this lovemaking. She liked it so much. It was something she had never experienced before. She now was starting to understand how making love with a woman, at least with this woman, was different than most of the men she'd been with. _

_The closest thing Tara had ever felt to this was Eggs, but even that wasn't like her and Naomi. Tara's entire connection with Eggs was fueled by Maryann's fraudulent, drunken maenad energy. In contrast, Naomi was a lucid dream._

_Naomi was seeing Tara, drinking her in, consuming her with her eyes. There was nowhere for Tara to hide. There was no retreat or escape. Being the subject of Naomi's gaze was both exhilarating and fucking scary. _

_Tara gripped Naomi's arm as it moved the hand that was pleasuring her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to thwart that insistent gaze. But she still felt it. _

_Tara could detect the muted light from those brown orbs. It was like closing her eyes on a bright, sunny day. She could still feel the warmth of the sun, still detect its light invading the darkness of her tightly shut eyelids._

_"Open your eyes. Let me see you," implored Naomi. Tara was helpless. She opened, and felt tears streaming, and then soft fingers wiping those tears away._

_"Shhh, are you okay?" Naomi asked._

_"Yeah, yeah. I didn't expect … this." It was all Tara could say. _

_Fruit wanted to stop and talk to Flower, tell her about her life and who she was. But how could she start? Where would she begin? Serial killers who hated women who dated vampires? A best friend who was a mind readin' fairy with an asshole vampire boyfriend? Maenads who responded to the call of exorcisms, then took over an entire town? Pigs taking a stroll on the back roads of Bon Temps? Being kidnapped by a psychopathic vampire, then killing him and burying the remains?"_

_Each part of Tara's story sounded fantastical. The whole thing together sounded fuckin' crazy. Naomi would have her committed. Even garden variety shit about Lettie Mae wasn't a walk through the park. None of it was shit Tara wanted to revisit. Not now. Not ever. That was the whole reason for leavin' Bon Temps in the first place, wasn't it? Why did her past need to follow her?_

_Because your girlfriend's calling you "Toni" and you hate it right now. That's why._

_Naomi's voice brought Tara out of her mind, out of Bon Temps. "Do you .. need to stop? I'm sorry. We don't have to-"_

_Tara cut her off, "No, that's not it. I'm like this because it's good. It's so good. It's better than I could have imagined. Maybe even the best."_

_Naomi smiled, a beautiful wide smile, and kissed Tara. Then she continued stroking her, and studying her. When Tara quivered and moaned, Naomi did more of this. When Tara exhaled, she did less of that. Tara watched Naomi watching her, in utter amazement at their unspoken sexual conversation. _

_Tara had gone to a lot of Vacation Bible School, even as a teenager. She remembered reading the naughty parts of the Bible. There were a surprising lot of them. She had always been confused by the King James' version, and it's euphemism for sex – "to know." And Jacob "knew" his wife._

_Tara had always wondered how sex could be "knowing," but now she understood it perfectly. Naomi was "knowing" her, and "knowing" was most definitely an active verb. Tara's beautiful yellow Flower was studying Tara's intimate self, learning what touches made her feel open and sexually aroused. She was memorizing Tara's unique lovemaking rhythm, by dancing to it and feeling its music._

_Tara moaned, and frowned in rapt pleasure and concentration. Then she leaned up enough to watch Naomi suck her nipples, lick underneath her breasts, then trace that faint little line down her stomach with the tip of her pink tongue._

_Naomi's tongue stayed along that line, even as Tara's stomach heaved up and down, tucking itself tightly inward, abdominal muscles flexing, as if trying to retreat. Strong, blushed hands caressed Tara's quivering stomach muscles, warming them, and fanning nimble fingers that formed a resting place for Naomi's head as she kissed the mound of Tara's sex._

_Naomi kissed and licked and teased the abyss, until she fell in, and Tara almost couldn't take it anymore. When Tara finally felt the firm wetness of Naomi's tongue swirl over her clit, Tara's legs lifted until the balls of her feet pressed into the bed. Her hands clutched thick fistfuls of Naomi's hair, and her head pushed back into her pillow._

_As she came, Tara's mind conjured a silly image of countless tiny yellow school buses with black letters revving around her clit, then racing outward in every direction. Whatever the school, it's mascot was a bumblebee, which adorned both sides of those tiny vehicles. Each miniature bus was brimming with sunflowers, windows open, and powered by orgasmic bursts of brilliant yellow sunlight. _

_Tara closed her eyes and felt all those tiny bumblebee buses rolling over her legs down to her toes, over her arms and out to her fingers, up her stomach and chest and over her face to the top of her head. Along their journey, those little buses bounced and careened, spilling sunflowers all over Tara's body and the bed, until she was covered in yellow petals and black fruit._

_Tara saw vibrant yellow petals dance a random pattern above her lips as she exhaled. Her body was numb, and spent. All Tara could do was watch and smile weakly as her most beautiful Flower sifted past strewn petals, making her way upward from between Tara's legs._

_Naomi fell into Tara's arms, and a kiss, and Tara tasted her own fruit. Naomi nestled into her girlfriend, who wrapped her tight in strong, chocolate arms._

_The two of them stayed like this for several minutes, until Tara rolled and moved on top of her. She wanted to give Naomi what she had just received. She kissed and caressed and licked as if she was trying to experience every inch of her beautiful lover at once. She hungered._

_Naomi tried to catch her breath, and couldn't. She didn't say anything, but Tara sensed her girlfriend's awe and bewilderment. She expected "Toni" to be virginal, shy, unsure. But "Toni" was really Tara, and Tara hadn't been virginal in a long time, and she was rarely shy or unsure when it came to love and someone she wanted._

_Naomi held Tara in place when she felt her sweet cocoa mouth kissing her stomach and moving lower. She whispered, "You don't have to?" It sounded like a question. "We can go slow. You can … ease into it."_

_Tara rested her chin lightly on Naomi's creamy, flat stomach. She looked into her Flower's eyes and smiled slyly. _

_When Naomi offered her hand, Tara took it and caressed it as she spoke, "Oh, I do have to. I want you, a whole lot right now. And don't worry. I'm gonna ease into it, alright._

_And then it was Naomi writhing on a bed of sunflowers, moaning deep in her throat, head jerking, body taut and glistening as she came._

_Life was ironic, at times. Tara had always hated her name. She thought her Mama either had a sick sense of humor, or was out of her damn mind for naming Tara after a plantation. And then she added the word "Mae" for extra points. Why oh why did Southerners think adding the name "Mae" or "Lee" could dress up any dumb shit of a first name? It didn't. It just made the whole thing more tragic._

_But now, as Naomi ran her fingers ardently through Tara's hair and called out the name "Toni," Tara wished for nothing more than to hear the name of that fictional plantation from "Gone With the Wind."_

_Tara curled up in Naomi's arms and fell asleep. The next morning, she awakened to the beautiful sight of her black and Naomi's yellow bodies intertwined, nude and bathing in sunlight._

_Human sunflowers._

_Tara kissed Naomi "good morning," and promised herself that she was going to tell her girlfriend about Tara Thornton later that same day._

**_# # # # #_**

**_Back to Reality, Almost_**

Except she didn't.

Tara didn't tell Naomi anything about Tara Thornton later that day. Then that day turned into the next day. And that week turned into next week. And that month turned into next month. Until suddenly, it was six months later, and Tara Thornton seemed to fade into an increasingly distant memory. "Toni" started to feel more and more real … and happy about the slow and steady demise of Tara.

Tara Thornton sat in Vamp Camp. She looked around and sighed. She blinked her eyes, as if waking from a dream. Nobody seemed to notice how deep in thought she'd been, except the brunette bitch in the corner, of course.

Where had she even come up with that name? "Toni" started with a "T" like Tara. Toni wasn't the name of a plantation in _Gone With the Wind_, a huge fuckin' plus. "Toni" sounded strong and confident, and cute.

Or maybe "Toni" sounded a little like _Antonia_, the witch who possessed Marnie. Antonia controlled and wreaked havoc on vampires who tried to hurt humans. Antonia was powerful enough to fuck up anybody who messed with her, but ultimately she was a good, decent person who didn't really want to hurt anybody. Tara had liked Antonia. Maybe she wanted to be a little more like her.

"Toni" even started to respond automatically to her new name. It was as if the new name was burrowing itself deep within her psyche, displacing the name "Tara." And since there was no one in New Orleans calling "Toni" Tara, it became easy to morph into her new persona. She even started to respond to "Toni" in her sleep, when Naomi would whisper that name in her ear as she initiated lovemaking.

It all started to feel like heaven, even though hell was just a mere 365 miles north. "Toni" wasn't from hell. She was from Atlanta. "Toni" didn't know hell. She'd heard of it, but she didn't know it. And she was never going to know it, or so Tara thought. Tara thought that all the way until the day her phone lit up with a text message from Lafayette telling her that Sookie was alive, and back in Bon Temps.

Perhaps it was fate that made Tara get the text on _that_ particular night.

After months of training and trying, Scottie decided that "Toni" was finally ready to take on Naomi in a fight. "Toni" had been an excellent student, unlike a certain hard-headed Chinese student of his. "Toni" didn't just rely on her favorite moves. She stretched and challenged herself and got better.

Scottie wanted to prove a point to his stubborn MiMi. He wanted to show Naomi that a good, novice student could practice and learn enough new techniques to beat her. MiMi's "go to" move wasn't gonna save her, not if Toni followed Scottie's instructions. Maybe if her baby fighter girlfriend kicked her ass in the ring, MiMi would finally take learning new techniques seriously.

And "Toni" did it. She won.

**_# # # # #_**

**_More Memories of Naomi Pull Tara Back in Time_**

_Naomi was kneeing Tara in the abdomen, one kick after the other, until Tara blocked and shoved Naomi into the cage that surrounded the ring. Before Naomi could recover, Tara flipped her ont her back and dived on top, pummeling the brunette with relentless punches. That was one of Tara's favorite moves, as vampires Warwick (dead) and Harris (alive and silvered) discovered the hard way._

_Tara locked Naomi's arm, and turned her head for just a moment to savor the cheers of the crowd. Fans were rooting for an upset. But what had Scottie told her? Never pay attention to the crowd. That moment of distraction was just enough time for Naomi to break the hold and get to her feet. She hurled Tara into the cage and punched hard._

_But Tara had paid attention to Coach Scottie, who told her that Naomi liked to make her way to her opponent's left side when she was coming off of a good jab. Naomi landed a solid punch, more of which would have dazed Tara. But Tara watched for that slight move to her left, and blocked. She caught the right hand of her opponent. She knew it was coming. She even had enough time to catch it just the right way and take Naomi down to the floor._

_In one smooth motion, she locked Naomi's arm and braced her legs. She couldn't believe it when she heard Naomi screech in agony and tap the mat. The referee waved Tara off. Victory was hers. Tara screamed in satisfaction. She'd finally done it!_

_After months of practicing, she'd finally beaten her girlfriend, sometimes teacher. Naomi was visibly pissed off, because she knew she was going to really hear it from Scottie now. And she fucking hated to lose. Tara raised her arms and grinned like a little kid in a candy store who'd just taken the last bag of Skittles … when she knew Skittles were Naomi's favorite._

_Tara was outside enjoying a victory smoke when she heard, "That's a disgusting habit."_

_Tara smiled and replied, "It's my victory cigarette."_

_Naomi nodded and said, "I totally let you win."_

_Then she walked over and took Tara's cigarette, flicked it on the ground and pulled Tara into her arms. Tara went easily into those arms, and Naomi's kiss. They started to get lost in their own world, until they felt eyes watching them and heard, "Mmm."_

_It was a perverted drunk in the alley. They glared. He put up a hand and said, "Don't mind me. I don't wanna distract from the show."_

_Naomi wasn't amused. She told him, "Go on. Fuck off."_

_The drunk was settling in, "You take requests? I'll give ya ten if you eat each other out. That's, uh, five each."_

_Naomi faced him and said "I'm a Seventh Dan in Tae Kwon Do. So no … I don't take requests. But I can crush your spine so bad you'll be sucking your own dick."_

_Tara pulled Naomi back and said, "Naomi, it doesn't matter. He won't remember any of this tomorrow."_

_Tara smoothed a stray curl out of Naomi's face and tucked it behind her ear._

_The drunk didn't know when to shut up. "I will if I get me somma that chocolate banana swirl. How 'bout twenty dollars."_

_"Last time, pervert," Naomi turned and cut him off. "We're not fucking prostitutes."_

_The drunk smiled and said, "Everyone's got a price."_

_Naomi had had enough. "That's it." She stepped toward the drunk._

_"Fifty?" he asked, still clueless about the looming ass whipping._

_Tara pulled Naomi back and stepped to the drunk. Not surprisingly, he reeked of alcohol. She said, "I'm sad for you, buddy. Sad that you gotta hassle women on the street. Sad that you gotta make ah asshole of yourself for the attention. Sad that you gotta offer money, 'cause there ain't nothing else about ya that's worth lovin'."_

_The drunk looked a little dejected, like he was trying to process those words. Meanwhile, Tara took his twenty as she walked away with Naomi. She told him, "That's for me not reportin' you for solicitation."_

_Tara looked at the drunk as she walked away, pointing a finger at Naomi. The gesture said, "That right there is the victim of your crime." But it also said, "That victim was about to whip your ass, and I saved ya."_

_Naomi grabbed Tara's hand and said, "Come on, Toni."_

_And Tara did, but a sudden silence overtook her on the walk to the apartment that she and Naomi now shared together. Naomi talked and Tara responded, but she didn't remember the conversation. Her mind was unsettled. At the time, she didn't know why. But that night, the drunk pervert in the alley got his revenge._

_He came to Tara in a dream and said, "You think you're so fuckin' self-righteous, huh bitch? Who are you ta judge me? Huh? Maybe I do gotta offer money, but what are you offerin', huh? A fake name? A fake identity?"_

_Tara tossed and turned in her sleep, trying to drive that drunk away._

_"I ain't one of your cage fightin' opponents. Can't throw me outta this ring. No sir. I got some shit ta say, and you gonna listen, bitch. What's worth lovin' about Tara, huh? Nuthin'. You don't think so, right? That's why you walk around pretendin' she don't exist. Tried ta kill her with pills. And you still tryin' ta kill her by pretendin' you're somebody else. At least I'm me, all the time. We can't say that for you."_

_Tara frowned, trying to wake up, trying to escape that ring where she was trapped with the drunk and his words, which were like a bell ringing true. Weren't bells supposed to signal the end of the fight, especially when the other person was kickin' your ass? Tara was tryng to tap out, but there she was, still in that ring._

_The drunk sat in a corner of her mind and smiled as he took a sip of something wrapped in a brown paper bag. _

_He mused, "Know why I drink? It's the same reason your Mama drinks. It's the same reason why you gonna be just like me and your Mama one day, if you don't try to kill yourself again like a pussy. We drink 'cause we know we can't escape who we really are. Don't you think me and your Mama tried that? _

_Tara gave up trying to escape and just pleaded, "Stop, please."_

_But the drunk kept talking, "But you gonna learn. Your past always finds ya. Always. And when it does, whatcha gonna do then? Whatcha gonna do when your girlfriend finds out what a pathetic piece of shit liar you are? And that she ain't with wonderful, sweet, tough "Toni." _

_Tara tossed and turned, trying desperately to wake up._

_That drunk went on, "What did they always say about Nixon? It wasn't the crime. It was the cover-up that people hated the most. All the goddamn lies. Tara may have her problems, but she was never a fuckin' liar like you. How many lies have you told, Toni? Too many to count, huh?"_

_Tara was crying now, "Staahhhhhpppp."_

_The drunk swigged from his bottle and kept philosophising, "Shiiiit. Toni, my ass. All your girlfriend's with is Tara, some bitch even you don't like or give a shit about. When she finally realizes what a loser you are, tell your girlfriend to come see me. My offer's a standin' one. At least with me, she'll know what she's gettin'."_

**_# # # # #_**

_Tara woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Her heart raced, and a foreboding worry set in. She'd had that feeling before, plenty of times. It was a feeling she got when shit was about to hit the fan. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced since getting the hell out of Bon Temps._

_Tara hadn't been in the mood to make love the night before. She'd been too bothered by whatever had put her in such a despondent mood. She still couldn't put her finger on it. That drunk in her dreams didn't help._

_But by the next morning, sunlight was streaming into her bedroom window, and the nightmares from the night before receded with the darkness. _

_The morning after the first time Tara and Naomi made love, they awoke as human sunflowers bathed in sunlight. And so when they decided to take the next step and move in together ("let's stop fakin' like we need two places and two rent checks"), the two lovers made a point of choosing an apartment that had a bedroom that streamed morning sunlight._

_So we can be sunflowers every morning._

_Tara loved sunlight. It energized her, made her feel renewed and hopeful. The sun was one of the things she missed most after being turned into a vampire._

_Tare remembered waking up that morning, feeling the sun warming her skin. She felt invigorated. She wanted to make love with Naomi. She stirred her Flower gently, waking her, kissing her neck, rolling her over and settling in on top of her._

_They grinded and kissed, until Tara suddenly raised up so that she could gaze down at Naomi. She thought, "You're everything to me. I'm not going to lose you."_

_Naomi looked confused at the intensity coming from her "Toni." She smiled and frowned a little at the same time, as she caressed Tara's face. Naomi gently traced the line of Tara's lips with her thumb, and Tara took that thumb in her mouth and sucked. She suddenly wanted to suck other things._

_But her girlfriend was apparently still a little pissy about last night's defeat. She flipped Tara over and moved on top of her. They both laughed a little. Naomi sat up quickly. She grabbed Tara's legs, and pulled her down a little roughly, until Tara was … more underneath her._

_Tara writhed and moaned, "Mmm." She lay back and settled into her position beneath her lover, enjoying the feeling of being blanketed and safe._

_And then her phone beeped._

_Tara snapped out of her pleasure with, "Oh shit."_

_Naomi was still kissing Tara's thighs. "Turn it off," she instructed._

_Tara reached for her phone and read the text: _

_Sookie's back. She's alive. Thought you should know. Laf._

_From that moment, Tara felt the chill of Bon Temps rushing into her, long cold tentacles stretching across 365 miles of Louisiana air space, weaving their way inside her. And pulling. She was so caught off guard that she didn't have time to formulate a good lie._

_Naomi sounded concerned, "Babe, what's wrong?"_

_Tara stumbled, "It's uhhh … f-from my Dad. My Grandma passed."_

_Naomi suddenly looked up and said, "Oh my God. I'm so sorry." And then a frown at something fucked up, "He texted that to you?"_

_Tara cursed in her mind. She thought, "Fuck. What kind of Dad would do something so fucked up? Lettie Mae, that's who. The only Dad you've ever known."_

_Tara, still flustered, said, "Yeah … uhm … we're not the best communicators."_

_It's funny how the truth works. It is what it is and you can't run from it; especially when it's your own._

_Tara had been trying so hard to be somebody different and better, but she didn't know how to be somebody different. She didn't know how to be better. Tara came from a fucked up family, so Toni would have to come from a fucked up family. A family so fucked up that her Dad sent her a text message to tell her that her Grandma just died._

_Naomi asked, "Do you need to go home for the funeral?"_

_Tara shook her head and said, "You know what. I'm probably just gonna send flowers." _

_Even Tara wasn't that fucked up. Tara saw about her family when they needed her. Tara Thornton didn't just send flowers to her grandmother's funeral._

_Naomi fought bitches in cages, but she wasn't fucked up. She asked, "You sure? Toni, your family will want you in Atlanta."_

_Tara looked up at Naomi, and tried to count how many lies she'd have to undo just to make that question sound right. Her inability to count those lies made her suddenly feel like shit. The tears started to come. _

_Tara sat up and cupped Naomi's face with her hands. She said, "Yeah … I think I'm better off here."_

_The lovemaking they had was bittersweet, because it happened on a bed of lies._

**_# # # # #_**

**_Vamp Camp is Better Than Fucked Up Memories_**

For a stretch of time, foolish, hopeful hours after receiving that text, Tara focused on making love with her girlfriend. She imagined she wouldn't do a damn thing in response to Lafayette's text. But deep down she knew better. First, she told herself she would check in on Sookie via texts to LaLa. Then she thought about maybe calling him. But if she was going to call LaLa, she might as well call Sookie.

That drunk man in her dream was a premonition. That text was her past coming to haunt her. But looking back now, Tara realized that she could have used that text as an opportunity, a chance to take control of her life and finally tell the truth.

She could have said to Naomi, "Babe, I just got this text. It's from my cousin, and my past. I think it's time for me to tell ya about it."

There were a hundred different ways Tara could have told Naomi the truth. She could have told her girlfriend about Lettie Mae and LaLa, about vampires and werewolves and fairy best friends. They could have discussed together whether it was good for Tara to go back to Bon Temps to see Sookie. They could have dealt with that text message together.

Instead, Tara picked up and left. She drove straight to Sookie's house. She frowned when she saw the house, newly painted – yellow and bright, like the sun. Some things had changed since Tara left. She lit up when she saw Sookie pull up in front of that yellow house in her old model yellow Honda Civic.

When Sookie exited the car and went to the trunk to retrieve her bag of groceries, Tara ran to her. Sookie saw her. The blonde screamed at first, then snapped out of whatever fear had momentarily gripped her and smiled, and that smile was like the sun. Tara remembered that this was Bon Temps. _Screams and smiles, and sunshine. And darkness._

Tara's mind raced through the rest. Naomi called her to ask her who the fuck was Tara Thornton. The curious brunette had gone through Tara's things and found _Tara's_ belongings, including her mail. Naomi suspected "Toni" was cheating. She knew something was wrong, but she never imagined a fake identity.

Tara remembered meeting LaLa and his new boyfriend, Jesus. They were witches or some shit. They dragged her to some witch shop called Moon Goddess, and back into the madness of Bon Temps. The next thing Tara knew, the vampire who would become her Grand Daddy showed up to shut down Narnie's coven, and then he was trying to kill Tara.

Marnie somehow drove Eric away. Then Tara fled back to Sookie's house. She ate ice cream and talked to her best friend. She told Sookie she had a girlfriend, who she thought she loved. But Tara confessed to Sookie that she'd told so many lies, too many to clean up and fix. She feared Naomi would break up with her. And there was Sookie, urging her to fight for Naomi, to make her forgive her. Sookie always did see the world through sun-tinted glasses.

The image of yellow-tinted glasses made Tara smile for a minute. _Troy Mathis. _

Tara had started to feel like maybe she could work things out with Naomi. Maybe she could let Bon Temps come with her into her new life, just a little. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. And then Eric Northman walked into Sookie's living room. Of course, Sookie would still be caught up in some vampire shit. First Bill. Now Eric. Tara wanted no part of it. She left.

**_# # # # #_**

Tara left Sookie's place, but she didn't leave Bon Temps. Instead, she went back to Lafayette's place. _Well, what was I supposed to do? Leave my cousin to get killed by vampires? It'd be one thing if I didn't know, but I knew. _

Naomi was so different from Tara, but so much like her. There was only so long she could ignore shit that was right in front of her face. So Tara wasn't surprised to be awakened by knocking on LaLa's door, and the sound of Naomi's voice comin' from the other side.

**_# # # # #_**

**_The Past Was Relentless, and So Was Naomi_**

_Naomi said, "I'm looking for Tara Thornton."_

_Tara answered the door and said, "Well, you found her."_

_Tara opened the door, half-dressed and holding a gun. Naomi took notice. This clearly wasn't her Toni. The sullen brunette didn't know who this was._

_Tara followed Naomi's eyes down to the gun in her right hand and sheepishly offered, "Long story."_

_Naomi pushed past her with, "Then you better start telling it."_

_Tara didn't know where to start, but Naomi had planted herself in Lafayette's chair. She was waiting to hear somethin'. Tara started with the first fucked up place she had ever come from – Lettie Mae. She figured that was as good a place to start as any._

_Naomi listened, then asked, "So the woman I've been living with, telling all my secrets to for the past six months … who is that?"_

_"Everything I wish I was," was all Tara could say. "Thought if I could make you believe in her, maybe I could, too."_

_Naomi spat back, "Well, I'm glad for you, Tara Thornton. Or the fuck you are. I'm glad I could be a nice vacation from your life."_

_Naomi picked up her things to leave._

_Tara said, "You know that's not all you were. You didn't drive all the way from New Orleans just to tell me to go fuck myself."_

_Tara let the words hang out their, worrying they might become a noose around her neck. She felt her breath constricting and worried a little more. Then Naomi turned to her and said, "You're right."_

_Then Tara's breath was totally cut off, by the sudden tight and unrelenting grip of Naomi's hand clenching her throat. It was MiMi's "go to" move, the one Scottie told Tara to avoid at all costs, or she'd be dead._

_Naomi slammed Tara's back into the floor and scowled, "I should kick your fuckin' ass."_

_After the shock and the initial pain wore off, Tara didn't mind the choke so much. She deserved that and more for what she'd done. She avoided eye contact, always a good thing when one is in the clutches of a dangerous predator._

_Tara looked off to the side and gritted out, "Do what you need to do."_

_Tara kept her body completely still. She didn't resist. She just waited for Naomi's next move. She'd take whatever it was. It would be worth it, just to keep Naomi with her for a little while longer. At that point, Tara was certain Naomi would be gone and out of her life soon enough. _

_But Naomi didn't leave. Nor did she kick her ass. Instead she jerked Tara's head to the right and looked into her eyes. She was angry, alright. But part of what Naomi was angry at was herself because she still cared for Tara. In a split second, Naomi resigned that she didn't want to fight this Tara Thornton. She didn't even know who the fuck this person was, but she wanted to kiss her._

_She did, and Tara kissed her back. It was strange and familiar at the same time. The caresses and the scent of her lover was like home, or what she had called home for the last six months. But being with Naomi on the floor of LaLa's apartment in Bon Temps, that was fuckin' surreal. _

_Tara didn't question anything that was happening. She just tried to keep up. She lifted Naomi from the floor and onto the bed. And for the first time, Tara Thornton, not "Toni," made love with her girlfriend._

_Things seemed easier after that, maybe because Tara felt the weight of all her lies float away. Tara tried, as best as she could, to introduce Naomi to Tara Thornton. She gave Naomi a tour of her life. She drove her around this tiny town where she grew up. Then she took her to the restaurant where she used to work – Merlotte's. _

_Things went better than Tara could ever have expected. Naomi took it all in, everything that Tara showed and told her about her life. Naomi wanted to learn about this person she loved but didn't know. Tara slowly talked through a lot of the supernatural shit she'd been subjected to over the years. _

_They took a table at Merlotte's, and Jessica came to take their order. This pissed Tara off. This was supposed to be Arlene's table, but she'd called in, so Jessica was filling in. Tara didn't want to deal with vampires, but they seemed to be everywhere. Despite Jessica clicking her fangs and speeding off in the middle of taking their order, dinner was good. Real good. Tara talked, and Naomi listened._

_Tara remembered being in the parking lot with Naomi. She lit a cigarette and saw the look on her girlfriend's face. Girlfriend? Could it be possible for Naomi to still be her girlfriend? Tara didn't quite believe that, but she was starting to be optimistic._

_Tara cut through her girlfriend's look with, "Before you start lecturin', smokin' was more of a Toni thing. This'll be my last one, kinda like sayin' goodbye to her."_

_To Tara's surprise, Naomi took her match and lit the cigarette. Naomi hated smoking. But she was happy to facilitate a last smoke, with emphasis on the word "last." _

_Naomi softly said, "I think I might like Tara better."_

_Tara's heart raced. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It sounded too good to be true. So good that all Tara could say was, "Why is that?"_

_Naomi slowly came in front of her and said, "Well, we just met, but it seems like she's been through a helluva lot, and she's doin' the best she can. She's also really beautiful. And smart."_

_Tara looked down, unable to face Naomi. She couldn't stand being reflected in Naomi's eyes, or hearing how Naomi thought of her. The shit Naomi was saying was good, too good to be describin' Tara Thornton._

_Naomi went on, "And good in bed."_

_Tara blushed, and shyly said, "Oh yeah?"_

_It was like suddenly Tara's vocabulary shrunk by ninety percent._

_Naomi pressed her body against Tara's and said, "I'm looking forward to getting to know her better." _

_Then the Naomi kissed her, until Tara closed herself off enough for Naomi to notice it._

_Naomi backed up and frowned. "You are … coming home, right? I mean back to New Orleans?_

_Tara replied, "I want to …"_

_Naomi could tell this wasn't an affirmative answer. "But?"_

_Tara didn't know how to answer that question. She didn't want to lie to Naomi anymore. She'd done that enough already. She tried to formulate an explanation of what it was that was holdin' her in Bon Temps. _

_Shit had started with vampires. The shit involved her family and friends, and she wanted to see it through it until the end? That was part of it. But that wasn't all there was to it. _

_Naomi interjected reason. She said, "You hate this place. You said there was nothing left for you here."_

_Naomi was absolutely right about how Tara felt about Bon Temps. At least, that's how Tara said she felt about the place. So how could Tara tell Naomi that there was somethin' holding her in this place she hated so much? She couldn't say it out loud to Naomi, mostly because she couldn't say it out loud to herself. Tara's mind wouldn't … couldn't go there. It didn't make any fucking sense. _

_And what's more, it was a fuckin' betrayal, especially after Naomi had come all this way to find her, listen to her, make love to her, and take her back. _

_The thing that was holdin' Tara in Bon Temps was so fleeting, and so fuckin' crazy that Tara thought maybe some of Maryann's maenad energy was still in the air. Except Tara knew it wasn't a trance because on the surface, where her emotions danced, Tara hated this troublesome feeling. She also hated the thing that was evoking this troublesome feeling. _

_The feeling, and the thing that caused the feeling … Tara hated both of them so much that she willed them to go away, but they fucking wouldn't. They stalked her, one of them literally._

_Tara had no idea what she was going to say next, but it turned out she didn't have to say anything. In the next moment, her conversation with her girlfriend, who she loved and who loved her - her, Tara Mae Thornton - was interrupted by a voice. _

_It wasn't just any voice, but the voice of a woman, a vampire, a hideous bitch of a vampire that, for some inexplicable reason, Tara wanted to continue interacting with. If she was honest with herself – and she wasn't – Tara would admit that she wished for future interactions from the moment she'd first met this vampire._

_This vampire was the thing that evoked these strange, irritating feelings in Tara that she wished would go away. This bitch of a vampire was the vexatious, unfathomable reason why Tara wasn't ready to leave Bon Temps to be with her girlfriend. This reason had a name._

_Pam._

**_# # # # #_**

**_Vamp Camp and Memories of Pam_**

Tara came out of her thoughts and surveyed the room. Nothin' new, except the same brunette bitch stealin' glances in her direction. _I fuckin' hate that bitch._

Tara looked back at her and Naomi's visit to Merlotte's and laughed a little at the irony of her hating Jessica then. That was just a few weeks ago. But hell, a week was a lifetime in Bon Temps. A few weeks was a fuckin' eternity. Now she and Jessica were great friends, vampire sisters.

Tara thought of Naomi often. True to her word, she looked back with hurt and regret on the day when she sent Naomi away from her. Tara had tried to leave Bon Temps, but the place was like a fuckin' gigantic magnet, always pulling her back.

Tara had managed to get as far away from Bon Temps as Atlanta and Houston. Atlanta had really been a nice place, but something about it felt wrong for her. It was where she would have liked to be from, but it wasn't where she was from.

Tara was from Louisiana, and so it wasn't surprising that "Toni" eventually made her way to the state. And talk about being fucked up in the head. Tara hated vampires, so where does she decide to settle down – New Orleans, the fuckin' vampire capital of the United States. There were more vampires roaming the streets of New Orleans than there were in Bon Temps, if that was even possible.

And, of all things, it was a vampire that kept Tara in Bon Temps. Sitting here now as the progeny of that very vampire, Tara could finally admit that truth to herself.

But she couldn't do that when she was human. Human Tara told herself that she was staying in Bon Temps because Lafayette was in danger, and Sookie's stupid ass needed her.

After Pam attacked her and Naomi, Tara told herself she was staying put because of that ominous promise the menacing vampire spewed out just before releasing the death grip she had on Tara's throat. Pam had told Tara, "It may be ten minutes from now, or ten years. The moment you think you're safe I promise … I will hunt you down and fuckin' shred you like confetti."

Tara told herself that she was protecting Naomi. The two of them sat next to each other in Naomi's car. Numb. Naomi was practically begging Tara to come with her. "I changed my mind. I don't like Tara. And everything you've shown me, says you don't really like her, either. So fuck her. Let's go."

Tara gave Naomi a pass. It hurt to hear her girlfriend – soon to be ex-girlfriend – say "Fuck Tara." But Tara knew what Naomi meant when she said those words, and what she didn't mean. Naomi wanted Tara to leave Bon Temps behind. She meant fuck this life. Fuck Tara _in this life_.

For a moment, Tara glimpsed a fleeting image of herself in New Orleans with Naomi. Happy. She was Tara, but her nickname was Toni, or NiNi. Tara existed, and Naomi knew all about her; but who she had been in Bon Temps didn't hold back what Tara/Toni/NiNi could become in New Orleans. The image faded away. It was just a fantasy. Tara wasn't leaving Bon Temps. She was probably gonna die there. _Little did she know how true that would be._

Tara exaggerated in her explanation to Naomi, "Everyone who's ever been with me has ended up dead. It ain't a long list, but it's a bad one to be on."

That list included Eggs and Franklin, two people who _were_ with her, so it was technically true. Tara left out the fact that she was happy to see Franklin's psychotic vampire ass die, and that she had tried to kill him herself. The point, as she saw it at the time, was that Naomi was in danger, and she needed to leave. Alone. That was the only answer.

Naomi made one last plea to stay with Tara. "I'm asking to stay because I care about you. Tell me that doesn't count for anything."

Tara inhaled, and delivered a vampirically cold answer, "Not enough."

**_# # # # #_**

Human Tara told herself that there was no point in runnin', not when a crazy ass vampire had tried to kill her, and promised to come after her again. Where could she run that a fuckin' demented ass vampire couldn't find her? Human Tara told herself that she might as well stay in Bon Temps, the place she knew, and fight. Staying and fighting suited Tara's personality.

And Marnie, more accurately Antonia, the witch who Marnie channeled, was alluring and seductive. Marnie/Antonia promised Tara the possibility of controlling vampires and making them pay for their attacks on humans. After being attacked by Franklin, and Eric Northman, and then Pam, Tara had more than a little rage against vampires. She wanted to make vampires feel a little of the fear that she walked around with.

But still, that wasn't the whole truth, and vampire Tara could see that in a way that human Tara never could. There was a reason why whenever Tara thought about Naomi, Pam was there, somewhere in her thoughts. Sometimes Pam was on the edges of reason and memories of her time with Naomi. Other times, Pam was the center of the images flashing though her mind.

_Why was Pam so inextricably linked with Naomi in Tara's mind? _Maybe because for Tara, her past and her future were too interconnected to ever separate. Pam was her past, and Naomi was her future. Naomi was the possibility of starting over, beginning a new life that was normal and human, whatever the fuck that meant.

Pam was the past, the supernatural, and the dangerous. Pam was like so much of everything Tara had known for her entire life in Bon Temps. But despite that, some part of human Tara must have wanted her past to be her future. Pam, the vampire, intrigued some part of her.

Tara told herself to resist the lure of Bon Temps, but she couldn't do it. Bon Temps had an eerie, supernatural energy. It attracted supernatural creatures. And Tara knew she should stay away from the supernatural. Supernatural shit had ruined Tara's life in more ways than she could count.

First, there was Lettie Mae. If Tara's Mama wasn't worshipin' her god, she was fighting the demons that came after her from the inside of all those bottles of liquor she consumed. As far as Tara was concerned, Lettie Mae's god and her demons were two sides of the same fuckin' coin.

Then there was her best friend, Sookie. Tara loved Sookie, but she, too, was supernatural. She was a mind-reading fairy.

And the thing Tara had learned the hard way was that supernatural shit attracted more supernatural shit. Lettie Mae attracted a goddamn exorcist, who channeled something in Tara that summoned Maryann, the maenad.

And vampire's were attracted to Sookie's fairy ass like bees to honey. Sookie also seemed to attract werewolves, shifters, and god knows what else. Tara just knew there was other supernatural shit out there, and it would eventually make its way to Bon Temps.

Tara was constantly discovering new supernatural shit in Bon Temps. Even people who looked normal might have some supernatural aspect. Even Sam was a shifter, for fuck's sake. _I knew somethin' was up when that man barked in his sleep._

For all Tara knew, everyone in Bon Temps was supernatural, or somehow connected with something supernatural. Tara thought about her own family. Lettie Mae had her god and demons. Lafayette was a fuckin' witch medium now. His mother, her aunt, was certified crazy.

LaLa's mother claimed she was clairvoyant. But the more Tara thought about it, maybe LaLa's mother really could see the future. Maybe "crazy" is just the term some humans used for supernatural shit they didn't understand.

Even Tara was now a supernatural being. Of all things, she was a fuckin' vampire. And the vampire who turned her was Pam.

This thought brought Tara full circle, back to the question of why whenever she thought about her relationship with Naomi, she inevitably thought about Pam. Yes, Pam had tried to kill her and Naomi. Yes, Pam had threatened basically to follow Tara to the ends of the earth and hunt her down. Yes, Pam had tried to kill Tara during the graveyard fight between witches and vampires, until King Bill Compton commanded her not to do it.

All these images flashed through Tara's mind. She remembered the fighting, the animosity, the gibes, the threats to kill. But underneath all of that venom, there was … _something else_. That _something else_ had been there during their very first encounter. Tara had felt it when she laid eyes on Pam for the very first time.

**_# # # # #_**

**_When Tara Met Pam_**

_Tara made her way down the stairs into Fangtasia's dungeon. She had gone there to save Lafayette, who foolishly thought he could broker a deal with Pam, Eric's progeny. He went to Fangtasia to ask for more time to break the memory spell on Eric, so they could avoid a war between witches and vampires. From how LaLa spoke about Pam, Tara got the feeling that he had prior "dealings" with her, and Eric._

_Tara didn't ask, but she didn't need to voice a question. She had a pretty good idea about what kinds of dealings LaLa's V sellin' ass had with vampires._

_Tara expected LaLa to be double-crossed, maybe even eaten right there on the spot. She knew from hard experience that no vampire could be trusted, so she went after him. And if Pam was anything like Eric, she was an untrustworthy, evil bitch._

_From the sound of how Pam was talkin' to Lafayette, the vampire was well past the evil bitch stage. Lafayette was a crazy fool for thinkin' he could reason with this vamp bitch. Fortunately, Tara wasn't foolish enough to go there unarmed. And thank God Scottie had taught her how to shoot. Just as Tara was a naturally good cage fighter, she also was an excellent shot. _

_Scottie had joked, "You was just born to fuck people up, huh?"_

_That she was._

_Tara burst into Fangtasia and held the human woman who answered the door at gunpoint. Bitch screamed a lot, and Jesus had to cover her mouth to shut her up._

_Tara could hear LaLa's voice as she descended the stairs. He was saying something about not knowing what happened to Eric, and begging the vampire not to hurt him._

_Lafayette was pleading, "I don't even know what happened to him."_

_Pam filled in the blanks for LaLa with the sharp point of a Christian Louboutin boot heel pressed into his chest. "You and those goddamned witches erased his memory. And now, I'm gonna erase you."_

_The scene brought back flashes of Franklin and how he just took control of Tara, glamoured her, kidnapped and raped her, and threatened to turn her into his own vampire bride slave. The Tara that Franklin abused was tough, but she didn't have the means to control powerful beings like vampires._

_The new Tara, fresh off a six-month stint spent cage fighting in New Orleans, was better equipped to fight. She knew how to read the body language and some of the thoughts of her opponents. She wasn't a mind reader like Sookie, but she picked up on things that the old Tara never would have noticed. She could shoot a gun, and she could surmise a tense situation quickly and act._

_This new, better-equipped Tara rushed down into the dungeon of Fangtasia and faced down one of her worst fears - an angry, sadistic, crazy ass vampire._

As Lafayette screamed in anticipation of the pain Pam was about to dish out, Tara said, "Like hell you will."

_Tara was raging on the inside, but controlled on the outside as she faced this vampire with her gun pointed straight at her. _

_She remembered LaLa running over to her, to safety. LaLa and Jesus (who was holding the human woman who had answered the door) stood behind Tara, letting her face this vampire one on one. That's the way Tara wanted it._

_Pam whipped around and stared at Tara. Tara stared back, unflinching. Tara didn't know what she had expected Pam to look like, but it wasn't at all how she looked. She looked cold, intimidating, and attractive in a "frightening bitch" kind of way. _

_Pam also looked, posed and dressed up, like a .. doll. That was it. The fashionista outfit, the blonde hair, the tall lithe body and the ample bosom made Tara think of Barbie. Vampire Barbie. The idea of it made Tara want to laugh._

_And there was something else. Something else that Tara couldn't process because things were moving too fast, and her heart was racing through the situation as it played itself out._

_Vampire Barbie said, almost bored, "A gun? That's funny."_

_The vamp bitch was pretty, yes. But she was way too damn self-assured in this fuckin' situation. Tara hated that shit, how the blonde vampire reeked of power and confidence in her ability to do whatever she wanted with the humans in her midst._

_Tara shot back, "Betcha don't think the wooden bullets inside it are too damn funny."_

_Pam paused and quirked a brow. Was that a smirk on Vampire Barbie's face? Yes, it was. Tara had the bitch's attention now. She was thinkin' twice about rushing Tara. This gave Tara a little time to focus on her, to read her. _

_One reason why Naomi and Pam were linked in Tara's mind was because, looking back, Tara believed there couldn't have been one without the other. The thought of that made Tara feel even guiltier, but it was true. It was Naomi who had encouraged her to learn to fight. _

_Because of Naomi, Tara learned how to read opponents, and women, and female opponents in particular. She learned how to see the subtle signs that indicated when they were afraid, or confident, or jittery. Tara learned how to ignore what her opponent said, the shit she talked, and the bravado she displayed._

_Tara learned to see underneath facades and masks, no matter how well constructed. It was this skill that helped her see everything her opponent was giving off, intended or unintended, including … attraction. Tara could see that attraction for what it was, even in the middle of a cage fight. _

_Because she had made love to Naomi, Tara started to see women as sexual beings in a way she never had before. For the first time in her life, Tara found herself being attracted to women based purely on visuals. She noticed their bodies, faces, eyes, even the scent of their perfume. _

_Tara also noticed womens' attractions to her, something she'd never consciously done before dating Naomi. And once Tara had learned how to see those signs and pick up those signals of interest and attraction, they beamed like neon signs. They were so clear that Tara couldn't NOT see them._

_So Tara, thanks to Naomi, instantly recognized Pam's smirk and that quirk of her brow. She recognized what was underneath the façade of that menacing glare._

_Being able to see all of that made Tara confident enough to take charge of the situation in a way she never would have done otherwise. _

_Tara quickly told Pam, "Okay let's start with the fact that if you kill any of us, we cannot help you get Eric back."_

_Pam said, "I'm listenin'."_

_Jesus and LaLa explained how they might be able to work with Marnie and reverse her magic to break the spell over Eric and bring back his memory. While they talked, Tara pointed her gun at Pam and took her in. _

_Pam was talking to LaLa and Jesus, but more than once her eyes locked with Tara's, and Tara's body reacted involuntarily. The cage fighter's body knew what was underneath the surface of this confrontation, even if the rest of Tara would have thought it was fuckin' insane … if she dared even acknowledge it at all._

_Tara told her body to shut the hell up. She heard LaLa proposing that they could reverse the spell on Eric._

_Tara interjected, "Or I can just shoot you right in the heart."_

_At the time, Tara meant it, or so she thought. But she was less sure when she saw the deepening of the blonde's smirk and the obviously impressed look on Pam's face. That look was subtle, but Tara saw it. _

_Pam's body language said, "I like what you're doing."_

_And based on the now insistent throbbing between Tara's legs, Tara liked what she was doin' to Pam, too. Tara tried to ignore her insistent arousal. But she felt her cheeks flush, and if Pam was as good at reading women as Tara was, then she saw it._

_Evidently Pam did see Tara's flushed cheeks, and she seemed to know what they meant, because she started talkin' shit. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to deliver that witch to me. And if you don't, I will personally eat, fuck and kill … all three of you."_

_Tara's immediate thought when she heard that shit was, "Bitch, please. You gonna fuck Jesus … and LaLa. LaLa? Seriously?" _

_Plus there was the fact that the entire time that Pam was saying those words, her eyes were locked on Tara. The cage fighter knew that those words sounded like they meant one thing, but they really meant something entirely different under the surface._

_Tara was so confident in what she saw coming from Pam that she couldn't help the tiny smile that curled the corners of her mouth. What the fuck was she doing? She was on the home turf of this vampire, in her fuckin' dungeon, talkin' shit and tamping down her arousal. Vampire Barbie had just threatened to torture her and eat her alive, and she was smiling, and flirting a little. She must be out of her damn mind._

_But Tara knew she wasn't crazy. She knew what she saw coming from the vampire was real. She felt it in her gut, and her gut hadn't let her down in the past six months._

_The intense eye contact, the quirked brow, the heat emanating from the vampire's cool body told Tara that Pam was having some serious thoughts about eating, fucking, and killing her. And only her. _

_Eat. Fuck. Kill. Tara was pretty sure that at least two of those words, maybe all three, were euphemisms for an activity that Tara had learned a lot about during her time with Naomi in New Orleans._

**_# # # # #_**

Tara hadn't been wrong. And each time she met Pam after that initial meeting, the dynamic between the two of them solidified the rightness of Tara's instincts. The … _sensual? _… energy between them was palpable. That energy was charging the air between them in the woods as they stood with Marnie and the witches.

Tara accompanied LaLa, Jesus and Marnie to meet Pam. Marnie was trying to reverse the spell that had been cast on Eric, and bring back his memory. The problem was, it wasn't Marnie's spell. It was Antonia's. Marnie channeled Antonia, but Marnie didn't possess Antonia's skill as a caster of spells. And Vampire Barbie's threats and impatience weren't making things any easier.

The situation was tense, and serious. And there was Pam, looking extra Barbilicious. Tara was willing to bet money that Pam had dressed specially for the occasion, even though that sounded almost too ridiculous to be true.

As Marnie tried to work magic, literally. Pam and Tara stood across from each other. They traded barbs, and Pam delivered her best death stare. Tara returned it with one of her own. And she kept her gun with the wooden bullets trained on the vampire, just in case she got any ideas.

That was the surface of things. But Tara distinctly remembered the glances and locking of eyes that happened more than once. She knew what that was. They were checking each other out. Vampire Tara, sitting in Vamp Camp looking back on this, couldn't help but laugh a little.

Human Tara knew what was going on deep down, on a subconscious, visceral level. Vampire Tara could now look back and see that her human self liked it, and wanted more of it. Sparring with Pam was like brawling in an underground Ultimate Fight Club championship. The stakes were high and real, and somebody could die.

That possibility of death became even more real when Marnie/Antonia cast a spell on Pam, decaying her body and ruining her face. Tara hadn't meant for that to happen. In fact, Tara had been trying to broker a truce between witches and vampires. Marnie going batshit crazy and casting a rotting spell on Pam wasn't part of the plan.

But Pam didn't give a fuck about any of that.

Tara didn't know Pam, but she didn't need to know Vampire Barbie to understand that she cared a whole fuckin' lot about her face. It was a beautiful face, and worth being pissed about. But Tara wasn't the person who ruined it. None of that stopped Pam from coming after her.

Tara and Naomi had just finished dinner at Merlotte's when Pam attacked them in the parking lot. The blonde strolled casually out of the woods, looking like a character straight out of some demented Tim Burton fairytale.

_How long had she been standing in the dark, watching Tara and Naomi? Had she watched Tara and Naomi making out? Probably._

Tara tried to tell Pam she had nothing to do with hurting her, but Pam was pissed and not stepping off that train of rage. Some of the shit she said was just … odd. _Spare me the dyke in the woods routine, Tara._

What the fuck? And how did Pam even know Tara's name? She said it in this familiar tone, like she and Tara were frenemies going all the way back to schoolyard brawls in junior high.

Pam had to know that Marnie/Antonia cast the spell on her. Hell, she'd been standing right in front of Marnie when the witch started that crazy ass Latin chanting. But for some strange reason, Pam targeted Tara for revenge.

Looking back on all of this, Tara suspected that Pam's hyper-focused anger had something to do with those mutually shared, intense eye locks - _eye fucks. _And the escalation of Pam's rage in the Merlotte's parking lot seemed fueled as much by the protective arm Tara placed in front of her girlfriend as it was by Pam's rotting face. A clue that this was the case was Pam's venomous attack on Naomi, or Tara's "piece of yellow tail," as Pam had so lovingly described her.

The whole thing was like a scary ass, but engaging movie. Tara was fully in the shit by then, and she had to know how it would end. And to be clear, the shit Tara was in that she wanted to see run its course wasn't this witch/vampire war, or saving LaLa and Sookie.

Vamp Tara, sitting and thinking in Vamp Camp, was finally ready to admit a truth to herself. The shit Tara was in was this thing, whatever it was, with Vampire Barbie. Pam was a big part of the reason why, despite every logical thing that told Tara to get her black ass out of Bon Temps, she stayed.

Nothing evidenced this truth more than the fact that Tara chose to remain in Bon Temps even after the vampire/witch war was over. During the graveyard battle, Pam had attacked Tara again. She pushed Tara on the ground and climbed on top of her. Tara locked eyes with the vampire, refusing to give in to her fear. If she was going to die, it would be with her eyes open, talking shit.

Just as Pam was about to go for Tara's throat, Bill Compton stopped her. King Bill forbade Pam from ever harming Tara. He effectively eliminated the personal vendetta Pam had vowed to pursue against Tara.

Soon after that battle, the vampire/witch war was over. Marnie was dead, and life in Bon Temps returned to normal. Or, as normal as life in Bon Temps could be. All of the impediments to Tara and Naomi being together were gone. Tara's family and friends were safe, at least as far as Tara knew. _Tara had no idea that there was a crazy ass werewolf gunnin' for Sookie._

Pam wasn't gonna come after Tara. Bill had ordered her to stand down, forever. The road from Bon Temps to New Orleans was safe and clear. Tara should have been on the road speeding back to New Orleans, and Naomi.

But Tara didn't leave. Instead, she stayed in Bon Temps. She _chose _to stay in Bon Temps when nothing held her there. The full weight of this realization hit vampire Tara as she sat thinking in Vamp Camp. She didn't want to admit it, but she couldn't deny that truth.

Tara woke up after taking that bullet meant for Sookie and realized she was a vampire, and that it was Pam who turned her. She blamed Sookie and LaLa for turning her, when really, she had mostly herself to blame. Tara had chosen to stay her black ass in Bon Temps when she could have left. She knew what Bon Temps was about better than anyone. Yet she stayed anyway.

**_# # # # #_**

Why had Pam turned Tara into a vampire anyway? Pam had said she wanted to follow human Tara to the ends of the earth to "shred her like confetti." Bill had forbidden her from carrying out that threat, but that didn't mean Pam had to stop wishing for Tara's demise. Pam should have felt joy upon seeing Tara dying in a pool of blood in Sookie's kitchen.

_And why the fuck did so many people die in Sookie's fuckin' kitchen? Focus, Tara._

Pam had given Tara one version of why she turned her early on in their relationship.

_Sookie begged me to save your ass. I agreed on the condition that she owed me a couple of favors. That was the exchange, nothing more. Seemed worth the trade, since Sookie's fairy vagina has some kind of magical power over vampires. _

Or at least over a certain male vampire that Pam cared a great deal about.

But later, after Sheriff Stormer invaded their lives and demanded that Pam make new baby vampires, Pam refused. _We procreate because we want to. _

Tara had taken in the deeper meaning of what Pam had said to her then. _She didn't just turn me so that Sookie would owe her. She wanted to do it. She wanted me._

When Tara first realized that she was a vampire and that Pam was her maker, she felt a deep despondency. That hopelessness was worse than anything she had ever felt before. Her depression was worse than after Eggs was killed. And just like she did over Eggs's death, Tara tried to take her own life to escape her fate of being turned into a vampire.

As she tried to fry herself in a tanning bed, Tara told herself she'd rather be dead, truly dead, than be Pam's vampire slave. She'd rather give herself the True Death than roam the earth as a vampire. She feared most of all that over time, she'd turn into something like Bill, or Eric, or yes, Pam.

At that time, Tara viewed Pam as irrevocably evil. But time slowly taught Tara that Pam wore malevolence just like any of her other Fangtasia costumes. Pam's villainy was a mask that hid something much more benign underneath. Tara didn't know exactly what to call that hidden thing, but there was an element of … caring. It surprised the baby vamp so much that for a while she refused to accept it.

But it was there. That caring was written all over Pam's face when she pulled Tara out of that tanning bed and commanded her never to try killing herself again. It was there when she took Tara to Fangtasia and gave the baby vamp, as Pam put it, a place to stay and some truly fabulous clothes. It was there when Pam brought Tara her first human and taught her how to feed without killing.

That caring was there when Pam choked Tara … _yes, when she choked the shit out of Tara … _for trying to feed on a human in public. Having seen what came down on all their heads after she killed Sheriff Stormer, Tara realized that there was a helluva lot about vampire politics and social mores she had no clue about. Pam was protecting her, no matter that Tara was too ignorant of the rules to understand that at the time.

That caring, and a rush of pride, was there when Tara beat Jessica's ass in the bar fight. Pam has disciplined Tara, yes. But she cared about her.

Vampire Barbie, dressed to viciously kill in that red leather dress, pushed Tara against the wall. With her lips, Pam reminded Tara that Fangtasia was _her _house, not Tara's. But other parts of Pam were saying something different. Pam's body was pressed against Tara's. And Tara couldn't mistake the intense eye fucking Pam was giving her in that moment.

Tara felt a rush of warmth when Pam told her, "You did good out there in the fight. Made me proud."

To her surprise, Tara wanted to please her maker. She wanted Pam to be proud of her. And she wanted something else. For a brief moment, Tara thought Pam might kiss her. Tara's own lips involuntary parted, ready to receive Pam's mouth.

But then the bitch blonde added, "Proud the way that a human is proud of a well trained dog."

Tara stayed stiff as a board until Pam was out of her sight, then she nearly collapsed. She felt stupid for thinking Pam was going to kiss her. But at the same time, she felt she'd been right about the attraction coming from Pam. She was sure of it.

Ginger walked in and saw Tara. She said, "Hey girl, it looks like you're getting settled in just fine. Pam likes you."

"What, are you crazy?" Tara asked.

Ginger treated the question as a serious one. The bleach blonde replied solemnly, "No. Can't ya tell?"

Tara replied, "Yeah, I can tell she's always mad as fuck."

Ginger walked as she talked, and Tara followed her. "Well, that's just Pam. She's always angry. Pam being angry don't mean nothin'. It's _what kind of angry _she is that matters. If she's not threatening to kill ya, I mean _really _threatening, then everything's fine. She's just regular old angry with you. That's good."

Tara frowned. Ginger didn't seem to be the brightest bulb on the planet, but she seemed to know how to read Pam like a book. Maybe it was just a sense of self-preservation that even the dumbest animal mastered if it wanted to live.

But the more she watched Pam and Ginger interact, the more Tara saw that Ginger didn't operate out of fear when it came to Pam. Not really. The dirty blonde screamed a lot, yes. But despite that, Ginger seemed totally comfortable in this world full of vampires.

Ginger had keys to Fangtasia. She came and left as she wanted. During the day, Ginger was the only human inhabitant within Fangtasia's walls. She did god knows what during the day while Pam and Tara slept like … well, the dead. And evidently Pam paid Ginger quite well. Hell, Ginger lived in her own house, and her place was nicer than anything Tara had ever lived in, even in New Orleans.

**_# # # # #_**

**_There's Something About Ginger_**

_The same night as Tara's bar fight with Jessica … the same night when Tara was convinced that Pam was a heartless bitch for calling her a dog, despite the eye fucking she knew had taken place … something happened between Pam and Ginger. Looking back, Tara still didn't completely understand it, but the whole thing told the baby vampire that there was more to Pam than met the eye. Of all people, Ginger knew it better than anyone, except maybe Eric._

_And there was something about Ginger. _

_Tara and Ginger were cleaning up the bar, and Pam was barking orders and being her usual bitchy self. Tara was still wired from the earlier run-in with Pam, but for Ginger it seemed like just another night._

_Pam yelled at Ginger, and Ginger reacted. It was the same dance every night._

_Pam: I swear you're so fuckin' stupid, and making me go broker by the day. How many fuckin' glasses did you break tonight, Ginger?_

_Ginger: Two. But it wasn't my fault, Pam. That fight between those two vampires started just as I was sittin' those drinks on the table._

_Pam: I don't want to hear your fuckin' excuses, Ginger._

_Ginger: I'm sorry, Pam._

_Pam was counting the cash from the bar. She paused, then recounted. Then she frowned and looked at Ginger._

_Pam: Okay, that's the third time this week that you've been short in the register Ginger. Last night it was by twenty. Two nights ago it was ten. And now tonight, it's short another twenty. _

_Ginger: I – I don't know, Pam. You know it gets busy in here at times. That's two drinks tonight and last night. One drink two nights ago. A few people must've left the bar without paying me._

_Pam: More fuckin' excuses. I don't give a fuck if it's two drinks or twenty, Ginger. The drawer at the bar has been short three nights this week, and the week isn't even over. It's just Wednesday for fuck's sake._

_Ginger just stared at Pam. _

_Tara: Maybe it was me, Pam. I mean, there were two of us working the bar. Don't just blame Ginger._

_Pam: Shut the fuck up, Tara. I'm sure you're stupid. You don't have to work to convince me. But Ginger's been short at the bar, not to mention ridin' the short bus to nowhere, since she started workin' here._

_Ginger: I'm sorry, Pam._

_Pam: Three nights in a week is a lot of nights to be short in the register, even for your dumb ass, Ginger. Maybe I need to start checkin' your purse at the beginning and end of your shift. Maybe if I do, this little mystery will be solved._

_That insult didn't sound any more heinous than any of the other thousands of insults Pam hurled at Ginger on a nightly basis. But it evidently did to Ginger. _

_The dirty blonde suddenly looked up. The expression on Ginger's face turned cold and shockingly lucid, as if the dirty blonde waitress had just been splashed in the face by a douse of freezing cold water._

_Tara tried to put her finger on what it was, but something in Ginger's demeanor changed noticeably. Pam was still ranting. The angry vampire didn't notice that Ginger had abruptly stopped cleaning off the bar and walked away._

_Ginger found her purse underneath the bar and searched inside. She pulled out a hundred dollar bill and walked around the bar into the open seating area. It was only then that Pam stopped talking and regarded Ginger._

_Pam: Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?_

_Ginger: Fuck you, bitch._

_Tara raised her eyebrows in shock. And the look on Pam's face was priceless. Now Vampire Barbie looked like she'd been doused with a splash of water. _

_Ginger had never talked to Pam like that. Tara kinda liked it. The baby vamp settled in and watched to see how this would play out. There was something strangely different about Ginger. She kinda sounded and acted like a different person. She even walked different, with a kind of confident, determined swagger that said, "Don't fuck with me."_

_Pam: What the fuck did you just say?_

_Pam was talkin' like Pam, but there was a wariness in her voice. She was clearly feeling Ginger out. She looked … worried, like she had fucked up and she knew it._

_Ginger: You say I took what … fifty fuckin' dollars from your goddamn register? Well here's your fuckin' money, bitch, plus interest. Now fuck off. Consider this my notice. You don't deserve two weeks. I quit._

_Ginger slapped the hundred dollars on the same table where Pam had been counting the night's take. Then the waitress headed for the door. Pam sped in front of Ginger and blocked her exit. _

_Pam: Stop it, Ginger._

_Ginger tried to push past Pam. Pam blocked her again._

_Pam: I said stop it. Fuck! Just … stop._

_Tara studied the entire exchange. The baby vamp was totally baffled. A human should be afraid when a century-old vampire steps in front of her and commands her to stay put. But Ginger looked pissed off. It was Pam who looked scared, really scared._

_Ginger: Get the fuck out of my way, Pam._

_Pam: Ginger, I'm tired of your shit. You know how I feel about the register balancing._

_Pam was putting on a good show at this point. Tara could see it, and Pam didn't really seem to care that Tara could see it. The venom was gone from the normally serpentine vampire. Tara could tell from Pam's tone that no matter what the vampire was saying, she was practically begging Ginger not to leave. Tara could also feel lots of agitation coming through their bond._

_Ginger: And you know how I feel, Pam. I got two rules. I've always had two rules. Just two fuckin' rules, Pam. I don't steal, and no one steals from me. And furthermore, nobody, and that includes your dumb vampire ass, accuses me of stealing. So fuck … fuck … fuck you. Now get out of my way._

_ Ginger wasn't making a request. It was a demand. Tara couldn't be sure, but she swore she saw a look of … recognition … on Pam's face. Now she looked even more worried. Tara dared say Pam looked … afraid. The bond was pinging with alarm._

_And Ginger. What the fuck was up with Ginger? Ginger didn't use words like "furthermore." She screamed when a glass shattered. But now she was facing down Pam and cursing her out, unflinching. She also seemed … highly intelligent. If Tara wasn't seeing it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it._

_Ginger pushed past Pam and reached for the door. Then Pam grabbed Ginger by the arm and sped into her office. Vampire Barbie must've lifted Ginger off the ground, because there was no way that Ginger could have followed Pam at that speed on her own. It took Tara a moment to process that she was now alone in the open bar area._

_The baby vamp sped to the door of Pam's office, and gently pushed it open and peered inside. What she saw made her blink, because she couldn't believe her eyes._

_Pam, visibly agitated, paced in front of Ginger, who stood near the back of Pam's office. Pam was effectively blocking the waitress's exit._

_Ginger: How long are we going to do this, Pam?_

_Pam: Look, I know you didn't take the money, okay. I was just, spittin' shit._

_Ginger: Oh, so you accused me of stealing when you know I didn't take anything. And you think that makes it better? It doesn't. Makes it worse, actually._

_Ginger was lucid, and not snapping out of it. Tara knew it sounded crazy, but Pam really did seem to be waitin' for Ginger to be her old self and … lose her senses. It wasn't happenin'._

_Ginger glared as Pam paced. Pam looked sheepishly at the waitress, who stood with her arms angrily folded._

_Pam: I'm … sorry. Okay. I didn't mean it. Now let's just drop this._

_Ginger seemed to be thinking about it. Her expression softened, then hardened again._

_Ginger: No. You knew what you were doing. Be glad I don't stake your ass._

_Ginger headed for the door. Pam grabbed her and pulled her close to her. She held Ginger's face in her hands and stared intently at her. At first, Tara thought Pam was glamouring Ginger, but she wasn't. She was pleading._

_Pam (softly): I'm sorry … for waking you up. I'm sorry._

_Ginger stood there, trying to avert her eyes. But Tara could see that the way Pam was caressing Ginger's face was slowly having an effect. The caress was gentle, and loving. For a brief moment, Tara felt just a bit of … jealousy._

_Ginger (still petulant): I don't fuckin' steal, Pam._

_Pam (soothingly): I know that. I know. I'm sorry._

_Ginger: And nobody accuses me of stealing._

_Pam: I know. I won't ever. I won't ever again._

_Ginger: You woke me up._

_Pam: I know. Go back to sleep._

_Ginger stayed like that for a long minute more. She and Pam gazed into each other's eyes, until Ginger slowly closed her lids. Tara saw Pam breathe a visible sigh of relief. And then, the vampire pulled Ginger into her arms and held her. Pam's back was to Tara, but the baby vamp was certain Pam kissed Ginger's forehead._

_Abruptly, Ginger opened her eyes. The dirty blonde blinked twice, like she was trying to process where she was. And then the lucidity was gone from the waitress's eyes. She was clueless, airhead Ginger again._

_Ginger: I'm sorry, Pam. I'm sorry I broke the glasses._

_To Tara's amazement, Pam and Ginger slipped back into their standard routine. Pam gently rested Ginger's purse on the sofa in her office, then returned to bitch Pam mode. Tara sped back into the bar when she saw Pam turn to leave her office._

_Pam stormed out of her office. Ginger followed Vampire Barbie in her usual flurry of nervous energy. Things were suddenly back to normal, as if nothing happened._

_Pam: Fuck it, Ginger. Look at this goddamn bar. We serve humans, not pigs. I know there isn't that big of a difference, but we have city health codes to pass. _

_Ginger: Sorry, Pam. I'm on it._

_Pam suddenly remembered that Tara was in the room._

_Pam: And what the fuck are you standin' around for? Clear the goddamn tables._

_Tara was too numb to fire back at Pam._

_Tara: Yes, Missy Pam._

_Well, not that numb. _

_Pam picked up the money and credit card receipts off the table where she had been counting and headed for her office. Tara noticed that the blonde vampire turned around just long enough to give Ginger one last look. To Tara, Pam seemed … wistful and relieved. _

_Pam smiled just a little at Ginger, then went inside her office and shut the door._

**_# # # # #_**

Tara recalled that after that incident, she started to treat Ginger with, she was ashamed to say, more respect. The baby vamp now knew that underneath that bleached up exterior, the screams and apparent cluelessness, Ginger was … smart. Streetwise and very smart.

Pam caught Tara trying to engage Ginger in a conversation about a book she was reading. Pam suddenly scowled and grabbed Tara by the arm.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" Pam sneered.

Tara, confused, replied, "I'm askin' Ginger what she thinks about black swan theory and whether-"

Pam angrily interjected, "The only swan Ginger cares about is the one she sometimes dresses as when she's tendin' bar at Fangtasia. Do you understand?"

Tara objected, "But-"

Until Pam choked her and reiterated, "I said … stop taxing the few brain cells Ginger has left. She needs them to tend my bar. Do you fucking understand me?!"

"Yeah. Yes, I got it," Tara said. Pam released Tara's throat and stormed off.

Tara wanted answers, but it was clear Pam wasn't giving her any, at least not now. It seemed that Pam … deliberately kept Ginger in the ditzy state she was always in, but why? It also seemed like Ginger … wanted it that way.

Did Eric know about all of this? Pam worshiped the ground Eric walked on, so Tara didn't see Pam keeping secrets from him. Then Tara remembered them hiding at Ginger's house after LAVTF officers stormed Fangtasia, and Ginger greeting Eric at the door.

Ginger had thought Eric was there to fuck her. To Tara's amazement, Eric promised that one day he would fuck Ginger. He seemed serious. Eric was a man, but he wasn't that desperate. Tara couldn't imagine Eric Northman wanting to spend more than a minute talking to Ginger, let alone fucking her.

But would Eric want to fuck the Ginger that Tara had glimpsed for all of ten minutes in that edgy exchange with Pam? Hell yeah. Tara could see Eric, and plenty of other people, wanting to fuck that woman.

That Ginger was smart, brash, intelligent, and attractive by any measure. That Ginger was dangerous and wore an attitude that said "Don't fuck with me." Unless, of course, she gave you permission, and then you would gladly take that offer. That Ginger must be the one that Eric Northman was promising, in no uncertain terms, to one day fuck.

Tara decided that for now, she wasn't going to understand Pam and Ginger's relationship, or why they did what they did. For now, she didn't need to understand it. Tara could see the best thing about Ginger and Pam. It was right in front of her. Deep below the surface of things, Pam loved Ginger. And Ginger knew it.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara Wants to Strip For Pam, and She's Not Fuckin' Auditioning_**

_Thursday, the night after Ginger's unexpected bout of lucidity, Tara was feeling a pang of sadness about her vampire life. She was tired of Pam's yelling and insults. And the fucking choking. Tara hated the fucking choking. But more than all of those things, Tara detested the sight before her eyes at this very moment._

_Tara tried with all her might to ignore the scene invading her left side peripheral vision, but it was annoying the hell out of her. Actually, she was telling herself that the sight was just annoying. The truth was that Tara was pissed off. Seething, actually. And maybe more than a little jealous. But the baby vampire buried her head in her book and tried her best to ignore the shit show that was taking place in the middle of Fangtasia's open seating area._

_Tara tried not to look, but her eyes kept darting to her left. Pam was occupied with "interviewing" a new, prospective dancer. However, the word prospective should really be put in quotes. _

_Let's do it now. "Prospective." _

_That interview was prospective because it was clear to everyone in the room that Pam had already hired the Ukrainian bitch. The grinding on Pam's lap that was going on was really just the equivalent of new hire paperwork._

_Really, if a bitch puts her titties in your mouth and gyrates on your crotch during the job interview, is there any other way to end the shit other than giving the bitch a job?_

_It was just after sunset. Pam, Ginger and Tara sat at a table facing the main stage. The main stage normally housed Pam's throne, but was now the scene of impromptu dance auditions. Two of Pam's baby vamp dancers had "no showed" the previous night. They may have just quit, but it was unlikely. They probably met the True Death. _

_Baby vamps had a notoriously low survival rate, especially if they lacked the care and guidance of a good maker. Tara was a lucky baby vampire. Pam was a bitch from hell on a personal level, but she was a good maker. _

_Regardless of their reasons for being missing in action, Pam's two baby vamp dancers were not around. Thank God Wednesday had been a relatively slow night and Pam was able to work through having two empty stages. But tonight was Thursday, one of Fangtasia's busiest nights. She needed two dancers on those poles and quickly._

_Ginger had drummed up some applicants during the day while Pam and Tara slept. But Pam was not pleased with Ginger's handiwork. _

_Vampire Barbie screeched, "Goddamit Ginger. What the fuck is this shit? I want my customers' throats dry and their crotches wet. Sand dunes are piling out of my skirt just watching these freaks."_

_Pam had seen one dancer out of ten so far that was workable, quite workable based on how the bitch had been grinding on Pam's lap. Tara picked up some of Pam's feelings through their bond. The erotic energy made baby vamp Tara feel like she was going to cum sitting right there in her chair._

_Tara was pissed, but she wasn't sure why. She told herself it was because she kinda liked to have notice of when she was gonna cum, and she didn't exactly like cumming in public. But she also hated that dancer gyrating on Pam's lap, and how Pam responded to her. Tara had already started mentally referring to the new hire as "Ukrainian Bitch." _

_Pam had given Ukrainian Bitch a job starting tonight, but she still needed one more dancer. None of the prospects looked promising based on a visual test._

_"Well, Pam. It's a Thursday and you kinda gave me one day to find people," Ginger implored. "All the really good dancers already have a job lined up for the weekend. Everybody knows Monday is the best day to hire strippers."_

_Pam didn't want to hear it. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with this, Ginger?"_

_Pam gestured to the prospects lined up to the side of the stage, not caring that they were just a few feet away and could hear her every word._

_"People expect to see hot dancers when they come to Fangtasia," Pam complained._

_The acidic blonde glared at the motley assortment waiting to be called to the stage, as if it went without further explanation that they were quite the opposite of hot._

_Tara looked at her fingernails, bored with this conversation. She was mildly fascinated, given the unexpected exchange between Ginger and Pam from the previous night, how easily Pam and Ginger had slipped back into their routine. Beyond that, Tara Thornton didn't give a shit._

_Maybe it was her baby vamp hormones, but she felt a tiny rush as she considered the miniature stages positioned throughout the dance floor. Tara knew she was a really good dancer. At one point, when she was a young girl, Tara had even dreamed of being a singer and professional dancer, until her mother Lettie Mae killed that dream. Lettie Mae's middle name was "Dream Killer." _

_In a far off voice, Tara chimed in, "I can dance. Let me fill in for tonight."_

_Both Pam and Ginger turned and regarded Tara. Even Pam, normally unreadable, wore a somewhat surprised expression. Then Pam's face changed back to her normal stoic smirk, as if she had come to her senses. _

_Pam said, "Can it, Tara. I don't have time for your shit right now. I've got a business to run, and one more dancer to hire."_

_Tara glared and suddenly belted out, "Who's giving you shit, Pam? You made me bartend without even asking me what I liked to do or what I was good at doing. I'm actually a really good dancer. I sure as hell am a better dancer than I am at bartending. Or you can try your luck with one of them."_

_Tara smirked and pointed at the dregs of humanity still waiting to audition. One of them was wearing hot magenta leotards and leopard fur leg warmers. Her body parts protruded in all the wrong places. She literally looked like she had rolled out of bed this morning and suddenly decided she wanted to be a stripper. _

_Another woman looked like she would be off to smoke some crystal meth as soon as she collected enough dollars from dancing to score a hit. _

_Pam regarded her remaining stripper prospects, her eyebrows furrowing in a look of pain and disgust._

_"Ok fine, hit the stage and let's see what you've got," Pam gestured toward the stage with a wave of her hand._

_"Nuh uh. I don't fuckin' think so," Tara crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair._

_"What the fuck, Tara?! I told you I don't have time for your shit." Pam tapped her foot. _

_Ginger looked nervously between the two vampires._

_Tara held her ground and said, "Nah. I just watched you hire that Ukrainian Bitch and all she did was stand in front of you, roll her hips on your lap and put her titties in your mouth. She didn't even go on the stage. She was too busy practically breast feeding you right here! But you want me to get my black ass up there and work up a sweat just so you can hire me for a fuckin' job you ain't even payin' me for? Bitch, you crazy." _

_Tara leaned back but kept her eyes fixed on Pam. A thought crossed the baby vamp's mind. She leaned forward and asked, "You racist?"_

_"What?" Pam frowned, not amused._

_Tara replied, "You heard what I said. Last night this brother came in here, the first one I've ever seen in this place since I been here for that matter. He was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him in here. He said his white friends wanted to come here and see what it's like. He said he came along but didn't really want to 'cause he heard this is a racist establishment." _

_Tara squinted her eyes and focused on Pam like a laser. She looked as if she could discern the veracity of whatever answer Pam gave by peering into her maker's cerulean eyes._

_Pam scoffed, "Brother? You told me you didn't have any siblings."_

_Tara rolled her eyes, " I said a brother, not my brother, bitch. A black man."_

_Pam rolled her eyes in response, "Oh fuck me. Why do you black people act like they're all related?"_

_"You got a problem with us black people? Why doesn't that surprise me? How old are you anyway? Did you own slaves like Bill Compton?"_

_"I didn't own any goddamn slaves, Tara!" Pam bristled at Tara's comparison of her to Bill fucking Compton. It made the blonde go from regular old angry to seething mad in an instant._

_"Hmm, mmm," Tara purred, confident in her doubt. _

_Pam snapped, "Fuck you, Tara. Fangtasia is an equal opportunity employer and everyone is welcome here. It's not my fault that most of the patrons are white and no black dancers apply to work here."_

_"Hmm mmm," Tara pursed her lips, unconvinced. "That's what they said at the DMV in East Shreveport. We would hire some black desk agents, but they don't apply. Bullshit is what it is. Well I just applied for a job as a dancer here, and you just discriminated against me."_

_Pam fumed, "What the fuck are you talking about Tara? I told you to get on the stage and audition and your ass is still sitting here clacking your fangs instead of dancing." _

_Damn it if Tara wasn't really working Pam's nerves right now._

_"Hmm mmm. That's my point. You're applying a discriminatory criteria to me," Tara said confidently. _

_Over by the stage, the prospective hires watched the argument. Most looked intrigued. Some looked bored. A few looked high._

_Pam retorted, "Bullshit, Tara. I'm hiring dancers, but according to you I can't make a prospective dancer audition before I hire her? You're ridiculous."_

_Pam looked as is she was astounded at herself for still entertaining this idiotic conversation with Tara. Her baby vampire didn't give a goddamn._

_Tara went on, "Yeah, as an employer you can apply relevant hiring criteria to job applicants, but you can't apply one rule to hire white Ukrainian bitches and a stricter rule to hire non-whites. That's textbook discrimination. You can't sit the Ukrainian Bitch on your lap, suck her titties and give her a job, but then want me to shake my black ass all over the stage just to get the same job. That's illegal, on so many levels." _

_Tara glared straight at Pam, waiting for her to say something in defense. When Pam said nothing, Tara took the pregnant pause as a sign to continue. "Anyway, I'm just trying to help your ass stay out of trouble. If you care about Fangtasia, you might wanna listen." _

_Tara smirked like she knew a juicy secret. Despite herself, Pam's interest was piqued. She did care about Fangtasia, very much. The blonde reluctantly asked, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"_

_Tara answered, "Well, the other thing this brother –," Pam glared and rolled her eyes again at the term._

_" – also said is that he normally goes to see black dancers over at Josephine's at the other end of Industrial Drive. He said several of them told him they applied to work here, and you didn't hire none of them. Word is Fangtasia pays better than most places, and its one of the few places where strippers don't have to get all the way naked. But apparently these good ass shakin' jobs ain't available to blacks 'cause the owner – that would be you - only hires white dancers." _

_Tara waited for Pam to respond, but Pam simply scowled at her, visibly annoyed._

_Tara refused to let it go. She accused, "You don't got nothin' to say?!"_

_"First, that's fucking ridiculous. Second, your point is?" Pam hissed._

_Tara said, "My point is that from what I can see … between fondling and sucking the titties of your job applicants and your racist hiring practices, you got yourself a lawsuit waiting to happen. People around town are talkin' about this place. Been talkin' about it for a while, it seems. And so far, I ain't heard no good explanations for why your place is so fuckin' white."_

_"I told you, Tara. Blacks don't apply to work here," Pam reiterated._

_Ginger chimed in, "Well, a black dancer did apply to work here, Tara. Pam wanted to hire her, but Eric didn't. So see, Pam likes black dancers."_

_Tara raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, but she wasn't going to be deterred from making her point. She asked Ginger, "And did Eric hire a Ukrainian Bitch?"_

_Ginger stared at Tara blankly._

_Tara asked, "What was her name?"_

_Ginger replied, "Oh, Yvetta."_

_Tara inquired, "Was she white?"_

_Ginger nodded. _

_Tara followed up, "Did she speak with an accent?"_

_Ginger said, "Yeah."_

_Tara deduced, "Hmmm, a white woman named Yvetta who speaks with an accent. Ukrainian Bitch."_

_Pam said, "She was from Estonia, and shut the fuck up, Ginger."_

_Tara retorted, "Hmm mmm. Estonian is Ukrainian Bitch by another name."_

_Pam reiterated, "Like I said, Tara. Almost no blacks apply to work here."_

_Tara pursed her lips triumphantly and prodded, "Actually, the first time around you said no blacks at all apply. None. But then we find out at least one black dancer did apply to work here, but you didn't hire her. Maybe others applied, as well. But apparently the ones who do apply never get hired. Yet you claim no blacks apply. That kind of lame ass explanation won't help you in a lawsuit. _

_You're in the fuckin' South, Pam. The black population is large, but somehow you can't find one black stripper from Bon Temps to Shreveport. On the other hand, East Europeans is flowin' though this bitch like the River Jordan. Most of 'em pretty and blonde, like the owner."_

_Pam quirked an eyebrow that said, "She thinks I'm pretty. Nice." _

_Or maybe that's what the eyebrow said. Tara was upset and didn't give a fuck at the moment. Pam's stare was vacant like she was off in her head, which incensed Tara even more. _

_Tara yelled, "Are you fuckin' listening to me, Pam?!"_

_Tara jarred Pam away from the "pretty" comment floating around in her head back to the annoying reality of the present conversation. _

_Pam yelled, "How the fuck can I not be listening, Tara? You won't shut the fuck up!"_

_Tara returned to the painstaking examination of her nails. "Hey, I'm trying to help you out. You don't want the help, fine. You should feel lucky that your progeny, who just happens to be black, is offering to diversify your business establishment, shield your ass from a lawswuit, and probably increase Fangtasia's revenues."_

_Pam laughed, "Don't flatter yourself. How exactly will the magnificent Tara Mae Thornton gyrating her hips on one of my stages increase my revenues?"_

_Tara boasted, "Oh, I can dance alright. Believe that, bitch. But really it's not about me. Plenty of studies show that businesses that emphasize diversity bring in more customers, which generates more revenues. And me dancing helps send a message that Fangtasia really does welcome all sorts of people, which may keep your bony white ass from being sued."_

_Pam paused to consider her progeny's words. She seemed to be suddenly struck by Tara's interesting and unusual mix of angry street attitude and bookish intelligence. The angry street attitude was apparent from day one. The bookish intelligence appeared to catch Pam by surprise. _

_Pam regarded her progeny, almost as if she was seeing her for the first time, but she was pulled from the thought before she could piece it together. _

_For some reason, Ginger felt the need to chime in, "Tara does have a point, Pam. This place is pretty white. Maybe you could-"_

_Pam interrupted, "Ginger, when I want you to have an opinion I'll glamour you one." _

_Pam hated to admit it, but her progeny was making compelling points. The blonde turned back to her overbearing progeny and said, "Fine, Tara. I'll give you Stage 3."_

_Tara scowled, "Why can't I have Stage 1 in front of the throne?" _

_Pam, really reaching the end of her rope now, explained, "You just heard me give Stage 1 to Oksana. What the fuck is your problem now, Tara?"_

_Tara said, "My problem is that white Ukrainian bitches come in here, stick a titty in your mouth and suddenly they get to dance on the best stage in the whole bar, which also means they get the best tips. Based on what? What if I'm the better dancer? You don't even know, but you've already decided that Oksana gets Stage 1."_

_Pam replied, "Look, Tara. I don't have time to do this shit with you any longer. I need to get ready to open. I gave Oksana Stage 1 because she was the only new dancer at the time, and I already know that Bruno likes Stage 2."_

_Tara retorted, "Well, now you have two new dancers. And I'll be damned if you give Oksana and Bruno whatever stage they fuckin' want and just appoint me to dance on Stage 3." _

_Tara raised both her hands as she said Oksana and Bruno's names, mocking their presumed importance. _

_The angry baby vamp asked, "Do I look like I'm gonna sit on the back of the fuckin' bus? This ain't Selma, bitch."_

_Pam looked confused, not getting either the "back of the bus" or the "Selma" reference. Tara shook her head, gearing up for another salvo. But Pam was ready for this conversation to be over. _

_In a rare defeat, Pam relented to her progeny, "Fine, Tara. What do you propose?"_

_Tara replied easily, "I propose that you let Oksana and me take turns dancing on the money stage, and whichever one of us earns it keeps the stage for the night. Fuck it, let your customers decide."_

_"That does seem fair, Pam," Ginger offered._

_Pam snapped her head around at Ginger, "What the fuck did I just tell you, Ginger? You and opinions aren't friends in here."_

_Tara had literally driven Pam to the ends of her patience. She sounded exasperated as she said, "Fine, Tara. Fine. Okay. You get time on Stage 1 tonight. But the minute you fuckin' embarrass me in my own establishment, I pull you off that pole and you'll be bartendin' until the next millennium."_

_Tara shot back, "Kiss my black ass, bitch."_

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara Dances for Pam_**

_Tara paced the floor in Pam's office, wearing a purple bathrobe. She could hear the music blaring, and the voices that filled the bar. The place was packed. _

_Ginger walked in and saw Tara. The waitress said, "Hey Tara, it's almost time. You ready? I can't wait to see you."_

_Tara spoke rapidly, which she sometimes did when she was nervous. "No, Ginger. I'm far from ready. I'm startin' ta think this was a fucked up idea."_

_Tara wanted to tend the bar. Wasn't that shit funny? Tara hated tending bar, but she hated the swirls of fear and nervousness in the pit of her stomach even more. If Tara hadn't been a vampire who now lacked certain bodily functions, she would have ran to the bathroom to throw up. She felt like she wanted to upchuck something._

_The only reason Tara hadn't bolted was the shit she knew she'd get from Pam if she did. But she was scared as fuck._

_Ginger reassured, "Quit worryin'. You're gonna be fine. I saw you practicin' and you're a great dancer._

_Tara didn't want Pam to see her dancing or her outfit, so she sneaked in three rounds of practice dances while Pam showered and dressed for work. Then she waited until Fangtasia opened to go downstairs to the large closet where Pam stored all manner of outfits and costumes._

_Tara was overwhelmed by all the choices of equally gaudy clothing. Nothing looked like something she would ever wear._

_Ginger explained, "Well, that's kinda the point. The clothes aren't everyday clothes for a reason. Stripping is about creating a fantasy. We don't see fantasies everyday on our way to the post office. Say, what about this postal worker uniform? That's kinda you, I think."_

_Tara considered it for a moment, then shook her head. Ginger searched deeper inside the closet, then exclaimed, "Fuck yeah. This is it."_

_The waitress held up a skimpy leather outfit. Tara wasn't sure it would fit, or that it was meant to cover her key body parts even if it did. It was a black leather two-piece._

_Tara objected, "I don't think so, Ginger."_

_But Ginger insisted, "No, no. This is it, Tara. Trust me. Pam loves leather. She'll go crazy when she sees you in this."_

_Tara was about to question Ginger's implicit assumption that Tara was dancing for Pam, but she stopped herself. The baby vamp already knew Ginger was surprisingly perceptive. And if Tara was honest with herself, and she wasn't, she would admit that she did care what Pam liked. And Ginger would probably know that information._

_Tara went with the black leather outfit. She looked in the mirror, feeling incredibly naked. She asked herself if she was really ready to gyrate on a pole in a room full of people wearing next to nothing._

_Ginger rubbed the arm of Tara's robe and said, "Listen, I'm going upstairs. You're gonna be great. You'll start on the main stage, right in front of Pam. You're a new dancer, and customers always get excited about fresh meat."_

_"Oh great," Tara lamented._

_Ginger said, "I'm gonna introduce you. There's a PA system in the bar. We don't use it often, except maybe to help break up a fight. Eric and Pam thought about doing karaoke, but then changed their minds. Wasn't the vibe they were lookin' for or somethin' like that. Anyway, I'll take the mic and introduce you. When you hear me, come out and do your thing."_

_Tara nodded, and exhaled. The baby vamp removed her robe and waited. Nothing._

_After several minutes, Tara couldn't take it anymore. She peeked out onto the floor from Pam's office. She saw Pam sitting on her throne. The blonde's face was made of stone, as usual. But even Pam couldn't completely hide a look of confusion as she watched Ginger fiddle with the PA system. Ginger did something that caused electrical feedback. Customers held their ears, and Pam glared._

_Ginger was too busy trying to get the PA system to work to notice Pam. Eventually she said, "Testing. One. Two."_

_Pam rolled her eyes._

_Ginger's voice filled the room and drowned out the music. Pam glared. Tara put her head in her hand. Oh fuck it. Ginger meant well._

_Ginger announced, "Hello Fangtasia. Yeah! Please welcome our newest, hot dancer to the main stage. Put your eyes on … Raven!"_

_Tara frowned. Who the fuck was Raven? She supposed "Raven" sounded more like a stripper than "Tara," but still. How did Ginger just decide on a stripper name for Tara without even asking her?_

_Tara didn't have time to dwell on that shit. She was on. Before she could think herself out of doing it, Tara opened the door and raced toward the stage. Every good dancer accentuates her gifts, and Tara's natural gifts were strength and athleticism. _

_The baby vamp wanted to make an impression, especially with her maker. She wanted to wipe that perpetual smirk off Pam's face. She wanted Pam to regret her suggestion that Tara might actually embarrass her by dancing on her fuckin' stripper pole._

_Tara sped faster than a human but slow enough so that even the human customers could track her movements. When she was several feet away from the main stage, she leaped high enough to clear the heads of several patrons. She wrapped her strong legs around the top of the pole, clenched her knees and dropped backwards until her back was completely straight and perpendicular to the pole. She spread her arms and looked at the ceiling._

_She heard a collective whoosh fill the room. It was the sound of customers gasping in awe at her spectacular entrance. Tara paused for a moment to enjoy the adoration. Cage fighting had made her addicted to pleasing a crowd. Fangtasia was just another crowd to be pleased._

_Tara slowly descended that pole, then flipped over backwards onto her feet. She stood and circled, locking eyes with customers. She gyrated her hips. A crowd gathered, and Tara slowly pulled every eye in the room onto her stage._

_Scottie had taught Tara to ignore the crowd when fighting an opponent. She suddenly remembered this and made that crowd of people standing around her disappear. She did this because she was engaged in a battle, with her maker. And she wanted to win._

_She wanted to turn Pam on. She wanted Pam to say, "Ukrainian Bitch, who?" And so Tara made that her mission. Seducing Pam with her dancing would be victory. She zoned out Fangtasia's customers and slowly turned to Pam, who was sitting on her throne, legs crossed._

_The blonde was stoic, but Tara could see the slight curl of her lips. Pam was enraptured and Tara knew it. The baby vamp was suddenly hit with a wave of arousal. It wasn't her own. Tara's fangs distended, visibly showing her arousal. Pam smirked._

_Tara locked eyes with her maker. She tried something for the first time. The baby vamp sent her own wave of arousal at Pam. Evidently it worked, because Tara's maker started methodically rocking her leg that was crossed over her other one. The blonde quirked a brow. Tara flipped Pam the bird, then slapped her ass and wriggled it at Pam._

_Tara gave Pam a look that said, "You know I'm fuckin' hot bitch."_

_Whatever fear Tara had harbored about dancing was completely gone. She was completely focused on Pam, and the throbbing between her legs. The waves of feelings flowing back and forth between Tara and her maker felt like caresses. _

_Maker and progeny … were caressing each other across the room through their bond. The whole thing was intoxicating, and unlike anything Tara had ever experienced. She wanted more of it. In that moment, she also wanted Pam. And the feelings and desires seemed to be mutual._

_Tara leaned back, keeping her beautiful doe eyes locked on Pam. She stood, then writhed, then ascended her pole. She wrapped her legs around the metal bar, then rode it slowly back to her stage floor._

_Pam wasn't trying to keep any of her feelings from Tara. What Pam was feeling was pure, unadulterated lust. Tara was feeling the same thing. As Tara licked her lips, the tip of her tongue flicking her fangs, she felt the wetness pool between her legs. Her baby vamp hormones were hopping like Mexican jumping beans._

_An image flashed in Tara's mind of her and Pam curled up in a coffin, then on the sofa in Pam's office. Maker and progeny were kissing and fucking in Tara's mind. In that moment, the image seemed less like a far-fetched fantasy and more like a plan for the wee hours of later that morning._

**_# # # # #_**

**_Lettie Mae is to Fangtasia as a Fish is to a Bicycle_**

_Tara was so focused on her sensual battle of wills with her maker that she didn't see Lettie Mae enter the bar. The baby vampire was dreaming of sexing her maker. But true to form, Lettie Mae showed up just in time to kill Tara's dreams._

_Tara didn't need to recall the exact words. They didn't matter. They were just another variation of the same thing. Hurt._

_Lettie Mae accused Tara of trying to deliberately hurt her by becoming a vampire, as if Tara had a fuckin' choice in the matter. Lettie Mae was now a minister's wife, and she couldn't have a daughter that was living the sin of being a vampire. So she said. Apparently, fornication with ministers fell into the "non-sin" category in Lettie Mae's fucked up spiritual world._

_Lettie Mae came to say goodbye, because now that Tara was a vampire, Lettie Mae considered Tara "dead to her." The words should have been just words, like so many of the other extremely hurtful words Lettie Mae had said to her only child over the course of her life. But the … finality … of those particular words felt like a stab to Tara's undead heart. Those words hurt so much inside her chest that Tara wondered whether she was going to explode into a pool of goo._

_Tara bared her fangs, and promised her mother that they would see each other again. It was a threat - an idle one; but Tara took a kind of empty joy out of seeing the automatic flinch that took over Lettie Mae's body. Pam had promised Tara that she was now at the top of the food chain, somewhere north of humans. In that moment, the baby vamp relished being able to remind Lettie Mae of that truth._

_And just to make the whole scene absolute perfection, Lettie Mae had started that excruciatingly traumatic conversation with, "Tara. It's me, baby. Your mother." _

_And like a fool, Tara had felt the same rush of warmth she always felt whenever Lettie Mae gave her the slightest kindness. _

_Tara made a great show of strength, but on the inside, she used every bit of her will power to resist breaking down and crying in the middle of Fangtasia. Not that Tara knew how to hide her emotions from her maker yet, but she couldn't have if she wanted to do it. _

_The baby vamp used all her strength to hide her anguish from her human bitch of a mother. Tara refused to give Lettie Mae the satisfaction of seeing her cry over her. No. She would do that shit in private._

**_# # # # #_**

_The intense sexual arousal that Tara had felt earlier as she was dancing for Pam wasn't even a memory anymore. Tara had finished her dance, and even managed to push through one more song. She did it by blanking her mind and going on autopilot. She allowed the music to fill up her empty spaces. She danced until it was time to stop._

_Tara took her break hidden away in Pam's office. She felt a kind of anguish and heartache that cut to the bone. She rested her head on Pam's desk, crying softly. Tara felt a palpable hurt that seemed to permeate her whole body. _

_The baby vampire also felt shame … shame that Lettie Mae had seen her stripping on a pole in a vamp bar. It seemed to reinforce Lettie Mae's point that Tara was sinful, ungodly and deserving of her mother's scorn. Tara intellectually knew that wasn't true, but she felt it just the same. _

_The pummeling caused by Lettie Mae's public rejection made the baby vampire uncharacteristically meek. Tara jumped up when her maker entered the room. _

_When Tara said, "I'll move," she sounded like a scared, ten-year-old version of herself. _

_Pam gestured for her to sit down, then told her baby to sit when the gesture didn't register. Maker walked over to her forlorn progeny and regarded her for a moment._

_Just like Lettie's Mae's words, the words Pam spoke to Tara in that moment weren't the most important thing. But not because the words didn't matter. They did. Pam told Tara that there would come a time when she would no longer remember Lettie Mae. _

_Tara's maker told her that Lettie Mae wasn't her mother anymore. But then, who was? Pam's eyes told Tara the answer._

_Yes, Pam's words mattered, but what Pam told her nonverbally mattered so much more. Tara felt her body flush with a simmering heat, and the area around what used to be her heart felt good and full. At first, Tara was confused. She knew those feelings weren't emanating out from her. _

_And then the baby vampire realized the feelings and that warmth were coming into her from her maker. Pam was sending her progeny a special kind of … hug … that only a maker could give. It was one of the most wonderful things Tara had ever experienced. In that moment, it was better than sex, better than feeding, better than the caresses she and Pam had been sharing while she had danced on that pole._

_And then Pam touched Tara's arm. It was one of the few loving touches that Pam had given Tara, and she needed it so much. Tara looked down at Pam's pale fingers gently pressing into her chocolate skin. The baby considered that touch, and suddenly made the conscious decision to speed into her maker's arms. _

_Tara held onto Pam as if her undead life depended on her maker; and right then, Tara felt like it did. For the briefest of seconds, Tara felt Pam squeeze her back, and it felt like heaven on earth. All of a sudden, tears started to well, and Tara felt as if every hurtful thing swirling inside her was about to spill out._

_But Pam wasn't havin' that shit. She eased herself out of Tara's arms, but not before gazing into Tara's eyes. Tara transfixed, gazed back; and to her utter amazement, she saw the last thing she expected to see inside Pam. Beauty._

_Tara saw into Pam's heart, into her soul. Her maker's icy exterior housed beauty, unadulterated and warm, like the most crimson rose, pushing itself up out of a bed of frozen white snow._

_Pam muttered, "Okay, break's over. Time to … get back up on that pole."_

_Tara danced off and on for the rest of that night. She was good enough to keep the main stage for many more minutes than Ukrainian Bitch. But unlike earlier, Pam didn't watch her progeny with lust. _

_Pam watched over her baby, yes, but with a different gaze. There was no heat between maker and progeny anymore, but there was warmth. A whole lotta warmth._

**_# # # # #_**

**_Thoughts May Come and Go, But Vamp Camp is Always There_**

A fight broke out in Vamp Camp. It jarred Tara from her thoughts. The guards broke it up easily enough, but it was still a little traumatic to watch. Tara held her corner, fearing that at any moment one of those vampires could meet the True Death. No one wanted to see that, because the next time it might be her.

Tara had been in this place only a few hours, and things were already edgy. The baby vamp shuddered as she recalled what her maker had told her about vampires and nests. It reinforced everything that human Tara had believed about vampires.

Vampires were violent, feral creatures by nature. Tara had never met a vampire who seemed human, except maybe Jessica. But Jessica was a baby like Tara. What happened to babies who aged?

Maybe Eric's asshole behavior was what a vampire needed to survive, especially if they hoped to one day be as old as the Viking. If Tara didn't become less human, maybe she was destined to meet her demise sooner rather than later. Tara decided that maybe she was okay with that. She liked her humanity, and she wanted to keep it, no matter the cost.

Pam had told Tara this was war, and war meant vampires versus humans. Pam wanted Tara to come to her senses and pick a side. Tara believed there was another way. Why did she have to choose between humans and vampires? Wasn't co-existing what mainstreaming was all about.

Maybe mainstreaming was just bullshit. Ironically, human Tara didn't believe in co-existing with vampires. But vampire Tara clung to her humanity, and believed vampires could be caring and feeling. The baby vamp also believed that deep down, her maker agreed with her. Pam was just too afraid to act on that belief.

Tara knew now that her maker wasn't evil. Pam was … complicated, but not heartless. That moment in Pam's office after Lettie Mae broke Tara's heart had been a turning point in their relationship. Something changed between the two of them. For Tara's part, she decided in that moment that she cared for Pam, and that she would care for her maker, no matter what.

Pam seemed to decide the same thing.

The next night, an old enemy from high school, Tracy, showed up at the bar. The bitch hadn't changed. She owned her own clothing store, Tracy's Togs, and she thought her shit didn't stink. And she loved to rub it in Tara's face. She sidled up to Tara's bar with taunts, and gibes about Tara's mother, and racist bullshit.

Tara knew Pam was watching her, and listening. Pam always watched Tara. It should have freaked her out, but she actually liked it and found it comforting. She kinda wished Pam wasn't listening now, though, because she was gonna give Tracy a piece of her mind. Tara knew Pam wouldn't like it.

Tara tried to handle Tracy in a diplomatic manner. Tracy suggested Tara was lazy, referred to Lettie Mae's alcoholism, and reminded Tara that by becoming a vampire, she was now a member of not one, but two, minority groups. Each time, Tara refused to take those pieces of racist bait. But then Tracy called Tara uppity. So yes, shit was gonna hit the fan. Fuck that.

Tara threatened to eat Tracy's bitch ass. Specifically, Tara mused about how she would rip open Tracy's heart and fry it up with grits and collard greens. Pam rushed off her throne and over to the bar to shut Tara up. Tara bristled at what she thought was a bonding conversation between her maker and Tracy, two white women, about Tara's uppity, problematic nature.

**_# # # # #_**

_Pam: Ma'am, I apologize. Tara's new, and stupid. Your drink's on the house._

_Tracy: Thank you. I've known Tara since high school. Even back then she had trouble connectin' with folk._

_Tara: I connected with your boyfriend well enough to fuck him. _

_(Fucking Tracy's boyfriend, David Anderson, was a painful memory for another time, so moving on)._

_Tracy: Well, I don't live in the past, Tara. I live in the present, in a four-bedroom house with a BMW and a garage. So enjoy your little job. Barkeep._

_Tara: Fuck you._

_Pam: Tara! That's enough. Don't you get uppity with me, ya hear?_

**_# # # # #_**

Tara thought her maker was pissed off at her when she summoned her downstairs to the dungeon where they slept. To Tara's surprise, her maker had tied up a gift for her – Tracy.

Tara said, "I thought you were mad."

Pam replied, "You don't know me that well. My mad face and my happy face are the same." _Ginger was right about Pam's moods, but of course she would be._

Tara watched in rapt attention as Pam glamoured Tracy, and made the bitch Tara's food whore for the evening. The baby vampire also remembered her maker referring to her _gorgeous cocoa mouth_ and thinking to herself _whaaaat?!_

**_# # # # #_**

Tara remembered ascending the stairs from the dungeon, her belly full of Tracy's blood. She felt truly happy for the first time since being turned. On a core level, the baby vampire knew that her maker cared about her. They were suddenly getting along better, and the bar had developed a hum of stability that Tara liked.

Tracy was a pure gift. Pam had fed Tara earlier that evening. Tracy was an unexpected dessert. Tara's life seemed to suddenly be going well.

And because of that, Tara should have known that TROUBLE was lurking. Trouble loved Tara. The love was hot and cold, since Tara often invited Trouble into her life, only to push it away when Trouble became too ardent.

But Trouble didn't give a fuck. It kept coming back, and it seemed to love showing up whenever Tara was happy. Those were rare occasions – Tara being happy; and Trouble wanted to be there to share it's love every time.

_Oh, Trouble. Wherefore art thou, Trouble? How much dost thou love Tara, especially when she's happy? Let us count the ways:_

Tara spends a glorious summer day eating Gran Stackhouse's apple pie and thinking about how much Gran makes her feel like family. _Trouble kills Gran._

Tara meets Eggs - a good, true love. _Trouble guns down Eggs and kills him._

Tara meets a sexy vampire to take away her pain over losing Eggs. _Trouble turns the sexy vampire into a psychopathic kidnapping rapist._

Jason Stackhouse, Tara's childhood crush, becomes her personal hero by killing said psychopathic rapist vampire. _Trouble tells her that said childhood hero is the one who shot and killed Eggs._

Tara flees Trouble and goes to New Orleans, where she meets a better, true love - Naomi. _Trouble follows Tara, helps her weave a web of lies, calls her back home with a text message from LaLa, then exposes all those lies to Naomi._

Tara's better, true love wants her, despite all the lies. _Trouble plants the seeds of a nettlesome, insane attraction between Tara and a crazy ass Vampire Barbie, who, by the way, wants to kill her._

Tara has a chance to leave Bon Temps. _Trouble gives her all kinds of reasons to stay in Bon Temps against her better judgment, including the maybe nonexistent but seemingly real attraction between her and said crazy ass Vampire Barbie._

Tara sits in Sookie's kitchen, otherwise known as Death Central, thinking about how life in Bon Temps might not be so bad after all. _Trouble sends a demented werewolf to kill Sookie, and Tara foolishly takes the bullet._

Tara dies. _Trouble reanimates her as a vampire, and makes crazy ass Vampire Barbie her maker._

Trouble and Tara had a nice, long history with each other. So it was no surprise that as soon as Tara was starting to feel happy about being a vampire and holed up with Pam at Fangtasia … Trouble would come calling.

_Trouble made a news announcement that same night that True Blood factories had been bombed. Then for good measure, the next night Trouble sent a new Sheriff to Fangtasia to take over and make Pam's life a living hell. _

Sheriff Elijah Stormer's nightly tortures became relentless after just a couple of nights. He was too strong for Pam to resist him, and Eric wasn't around to protect her. One of the many things Tara hated about being a vampire was her physical weakness relative to older vampires. She hated having to take shit from stronger vampires, which for Tara's baby vamp ass, was _most_ vampires.

While Tara's vampire body was weak, her mind was exceptionally strong. She had planned to do her maker's bidding, until she stood next to her as she sat on her throne. Tara listened to Pam worrying about Stormer and his order that she make more baby vampires, and his threat to take Tara away from her. Pam said two things that told Tara so much about how the older vampire felt about her progeny.

First Pam said, "We procreate because we want to."

Then Pam said, "Stormer can have the fuckin' bar, and you and I will live in the wind, just like me and Eric."

Tara didn't need her maker to spell shit out any clearer than that. The baby vampire knew how to translate her maker's round about way of speaking. Despite what Pam had told her about doing a favor for Sookie to get two favors in return, Pam had wanted to turn Tara. _Pam wanted Tara to be hers._

Moreover, Pam didn't just make Tara and send her on her way. At some point, she made the decision to care for Tara. Being a maker was a profound investment, and Tara was just starting to understand the enormity of the gift that Pam had given to her. If not for Pam, Tara probably would have met the True Death by now.

Being a maker, and doing it right, meant giving of yourself in every possible way for a long ass time, maybe even for an eternity. It meant sharing not just your space, money and time, but your fuckin' emotional self on a deeply interconnected level that Tara still didn't quite understand. But the baby vampire didn't need to understand all that being a maker was to know how special it was. No human, not even her own mother, had given Tara anything so valuable.

And now Pam was sitting there on her throne – a seat she loved for so many complicated reasons – saying that she planned to give it up. Just a few days ago, Pam had threatened to silver Tara for a millennium if she did _anything _to jeopardize _her_ bar. Yet now she was planning to give it up, for Tara.

That shit was huge. It was like if Sam gave up Merlotte's for Tara. Or Sookie gave up Gran's house. Or Jason gave up sex. It made Tara feel special and loved in a way that she didn't have words to describe. And when Tara was at a loss for words, she acted. The baby vampire didn't have anything she cared about as much as Pam cared about Fangtasia.

Tara didn't have anything valuable to give that could come close to saying "thank you" to Pam. The only thing that came remotely close for Tara was her own life. As the baby vamp stood on that stage, feeling her maker's grief as she mentally separated herself from her beloved business and home, Tara Thornton vowed that she would kill Sheriff Elijah Stormer, or fuckin' die tryin'.

In that moment, when Tara decided she would die for her maker, she also realized that she loved her. She realized she felt that love for Pam in the forefront of her mind. Tara realized it _consciously_ and voiced it to herself, even if she wasn't ready to say it out loud.

Jessica saw it. She saw what Tara had started to feel for her maker, and called her on it. It was written all over her face. It frightened Tara, and made her feel secure at the same time. But she wasn't ready to admit it out loud, so she told Jessica to mind her own business.

The frightening part was the deep chasm Tara looked into when she contemplated what she was starting to feel for Pam. That feeling opened itself into an abyss, and Tara was about to fall into it. She knew that once she fell, she might never be able to climb her way out of it.

The absoluteness of what she felt was a kind of security, and at the same time scary as hell. Tara was built to love deep and hard. She loved that way, even when the other person didn't give nearly as much back to her. Pam was giving as much back to Tara, and then some. Because of that, it no longer mattered what Pam did or said, Tara was going to love her. Nothing could change that. It was what it was, and that truth gave Tara an odd kind of inner peace.

Looking back, even with all that she knew now, Tara probably would have killed Stormer anyway. Maybe she would have tried to do it in a way that didn't leave a blood trail flowing from her hands, but she would have done it. No way was she letting that fucker mess with her maker or take Pam's property. Pam had given up the bar, but Tara was going to get it back. And when she took it back, Fangtasia would be _their house._

Tara always enjoyed reading about the law. As a black woman with strong opinions and hands that she often couldn't keep to herself, Tara had a deeply personal interest in understanding laws. She wanted to know the shit that could and couldn't be done to her, at least according to the books. For that reason, she wished that she knew more about vampire politics and laws. She planned to learn as much about that shit as possible, if she made it out of Vamp Camp alive, that is.

Most American law has it roots in Old English Law, the law the first colonists brought with them from England when they settled in America. However, this wasn't the case regarding something called the "spoils system," which is supposedly a unique product of the American political system.

In the early 1830's, during President Andrew Jackson's term, a way of political thinking took shape that openly rewarded friends of political winners with whatever political favors they wanted. Supporters of Jackson received lucrative civil service jobs and other government benefits, just for being lucky enough to back the right man for President.

This system of open right to take extra benefits without earning them simply because your team won was called the "spoils system." It's where the phrases, "to the winners go the spoils" and "spoils of war" come from.

Supposedly, Congress passed several laws over the years to eradicate the spoils system. But to Tara, this system existed today, just in a more subtle form. Tara also didn't think this way of doing things just started in the 1830's in the United States.

The "spoils system" was just another variation of "might makes right." It was Divine Right of Kings, or rape and pillage by another name. By coming into Pam's house and demanding taxes (otherwise known as bribes), percentages of Fangtasia's profits and the making of new baby vampires, Stormer was asserting his rights to the spoils.

Pam's camp were (ostensibly) mainstreamers. Stormer's camp believed in the supremacy of vampires and their right to feed from human veins at will. Well, Pam did, too, actually, but she didn't do it publicly.

The point was Stormer was taking Pam's property because he was stronger and could do it. Vampires may claim to have politics and rules of law, but it seemed to Tara that vampires weren't much different from humans. The stronger you were, the more leeway you had under the law. And if you were strong enough, you were the law.

Tara didn't like that shit at all. But the last straw for Tara was when Stormer threatened to take all of Pam's assets, including her progeny. That asset would be Tara, and Tara most definitely didn't like the sound of that shit. She was a person, not an asset to be traded. The whole thing reeked way too much of human slavery for Tara's liking.

When the baby vampire contemplated belonging to someone else other than her maker, she suddenly had a greater appreciation for Pam. Vampire Barbie had her bitch ass ways, yes. But Pam genuinely cared for her progeny, on a level that Tara was just beginning to understand. No way was someone taking Tara away from Pam. No way was someone going to simply "own" her against her will. Tara would kill or die before she allowed that to happen.

So Tara decided to play by the rules as she saw them. Elijah Stormer had laid down the gauntlet, and Tara picked it up, along with her Grand Daddy Eric's Viking sword. She concocted a scheme to ask for Stormer's help in determining what she did wrong in trying to turn Ginger. Ginger would distract Stormer, then stab him with a silver knife, giving Tara time to behead him.

Seeing Ginger's brief transformation into the intelligent, alluring bad ass that she apparently had been at some point in the past gave Tara the confidence that Ginger could pull off her part of the plan. Ginger clearly loved Pam, and would do anything to help her, even if that meant awakening into a state of lucidity long enough to stay still and not scream.

Tara lured Stormer into Pam's office. She spoke and moved quickly, hoping to take away Stormer's ability to think and outmaneuver her.

Tara had a dry sense of humor, but even she had to keep herself from laughing when she told Stormer, "I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no vampire babies."

When would Tara ever again get to incorporate a _Gone With the Wind _reference into a real life situation? She was named after one of the plantations in the movie, for fuck's sake. She just had to do it.

Ginger pulled things off beautifully. Well, almost. She was good all the way up until she felt herself covered in bloody Stormer vamp goo. Then the screaming started, loud enough to summon Pam into her office.

Pam looked utterly shocked, and looking back, Tara realized … scared shitless for her foolhardy progeny. All Tara's maker could do was hold out her arms, take a deep breathe she didn't need, and say, "You have got to be kiddin' me?!"

It was a question, a statement and an exclamation all rolled into one. After doing so much reading on political philosophy and laws, Tara could have given a law-based, erudite, exceptionally detailed response to Pam's question statement. It might have hearkened back to England, her maker's birth place, and gone something like:

_My dearest maker, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, a loathsome usurper has darkened the doors of your fair estate, Fangtasia. I hereby inform you that Fangtasia, your inheritance from your father and my grandfather, that asshole Viking surnamed Northman, Eric, had been unlawfully possessed by one Grand Poobah of Upper Butt Crack, surnamed Stormer, Elijah. Stormer had claimed his right of possession under the laws of the so-called American Vampire Authority, under which he carries the bullshit title of "Sheriff." _

_However, I, Tara Thornton, your honorable liege and faithful progeny, did dispute this claim in the most noble manner, with the sword. I, and my faithful lady Ginger, wrested your fair estate from the gooey, now non-existent hands of the loathsome usurper, Stormer. _

_As is dictated by the law of the sword, I hereby declare your rightful property officially reclaimed in my name. But do not fear, my dearest Pamela. For I, your loyal liege and faithful progeny, am honorable and true. As such, I hereforth declare Fangtasia to be not mine, but ours. And it shall be so from this point onward. _

_And I further swear to you, my dearest Pamela, that should other loathsome usurpers of the likes of Stormer ever darken the doors of your, now our, fair estate, we shall neither run nor cower in the face of that dreadful darkness. _

_Rather I, Tara Thornton, your faithful liege and faithful progeny, with the help of my fair lady Ginger if needs be, shall deliver to them with my asshole Grand Daddy's Viking sword the same fierce justice. That justice has a name, my dearest Pamela. And it's name is Death._

Tara could have said all of that shit , but she knew very well that Pam didn't care for too many words.

So the badass baby vampire simply replied, "We're not runnin'. No one fucks with us in _our house._"

To wit her maker gave a look that simply said, "Well alrighty, then."

**_# # # # #_**

Tara was beyond lying to herself, or to anyone she cared about. She admitted to herself that she loved Pam. And she wasn't pretending it was admiration or thankfulness or caring for Pam "as a friend." Tara loved Pam in THAT way.

Tara also firmly believed that her love wasn't unrequited. The baby vampire believed that her maker loved her in THAT way, as well. Tara's belief was reinforced whenever she thought about that kiss she and Pam shared in the Authority. Tara had been waiting to get to her maker, antsy for those silver-coated cell doors to unlock.

She wanted her maker so badly that she burned herself just to reach her a few seconds sooner. Tara didn't know what she would do when she was finally able to be physically close to her maker again. She allowed the moment to guide her, and it urged her to pull Pam into her arms and kiss her. A part of Tara prepared for the rejection, a biting remark, or some kind of rebuke.

To Tara's surprise, Pam kissed her back. And not only did Pam kiss her, she opened the floodgate to her emotions. She opened her end of the bond. As a baby, Tara didn't really know how to close her end, so it was always mostly open. The flow of feelings between maker and progeny during that kiss played like Disney music.

But then, Bill Compton turned into a vampire god or something like it, Eric was back in their lives controlling shit, humans were hunting and jailing vampires. And Fangtasia, the home Tara had killed for, was shut down. Suddenly, life was fucked all around and Pam was freaked the hell out. She shut down everything, including her end of the bond.

The next thing Tara knew, they were alone on the beach and Pam was pretending not to be crying. And then they were fucking. Or more accurately, Pam was fucking Tara, who found herself suddenly on her back pressed into the sand and trying to figure out what the hell was happening. They weren't alone on the beach, and voices were drawing nearer. It was over before it started.

There was one small part of that encounter that felt like their first kiss. But overall, that fuck on the beach wasn't what Tara had imagined her first time with Pam would be like. It was so far from what she had dreamed about that the baby vampire stored thoughts of it away. That kiss, and that fuck on the beach, were definitely things to contemplate at another time.

Right now, Tara felt alone. She wanted her family. She just wanted Pam. Tara suddenly conjured a mental image of Edvard Munch's painting "The Scream." She suddenly understood its meaning on an entirely new level.

Tara had the feeling of wanting desperately to just be someplace else, anyplace else. She wanted to close her eyes and open them again and suddenly be in a new reality. She wanted to be home with Pam at Fangtasia, and Ginger, with Jessica visiting every other night.

Tara allowed herself the feeling, but she didn't bother closing her eyes. From when she was a little girl, Tara had tried that particular wishing game more times than she could count. It never worked. She always opened her eyes to find herself in the same shitty place. She knew this time wouldn't be any different.

Tara's mind suddenly took a sharp turn. She remembered that family is where you find it. It's not just in the blood, like LaLa. It's in the heart, even if that heart no longer beats. Sookie and Gran Stackhouse (and Jason, even though right now he was acting like some crazy racist fool) had always been the family in her heart. Tara vowed that she was gonna patch things up with LaLa and Sookie, if she made it out of this place alive. They had turned her because they loved her. Truthfully, if faced with the choice, Tara couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same thing if it had been Sookie or Lafayette dying in _her _arms.

In her vampire life, Tara had found another adopted sister, a certain bubbly, too-giddy red head. Tara remembered Jessica's heart wrenching pain when Bill started summoning her. Sookie had taken her to Bill. Tara had wanted to go, but her vampire family prevented her from leaving. Tara frowned. That control shit was the one thing she _didn't _like about this new vampire family situation. Perhaps that's why she rebelled against that control at every opportunity.

_Yeah. And that rebelling shit is what got your black ass in here. And got your maker captured. _Tara felt a sudden surge of guilt, and pushed those thoughts away. She kept Jessica in mind though. She hoped her friend, her vampire sister, was okay.

Tara's mind was tired after all that thinkin'. GenPop was quiet for now. So the baby vampire closed her eyes and let her mind go blank.

**_# # # # #_**

**_Tara and Jessica Meet Up in GenPop_**

A guard's voice roused Tara out of her meditation as it boomed into the main holding area, "Bender. Jacobs. Callahan."

Jessica, looking frazzled and jumpy, partly from the shock of being in prison and mostly from the high she still had from drinking so much fairy blood, paused at the entrance to GenPop. She startled at the sound of the guard's voice booming out of the intercom system.

The red head stepped cautiously into the GenPop main holding area, and nervously assessed her surroundings. She lit up a little when she saw the familiar face.

Jessica: Tara?

Tara looked up and out of her thoughts when she heard the sound of someone calling her name. She did a tiny double take when she saw Jessica scurrying toward her. Strong, dark, muscular arms instinctively opened, and Jessica easily accepted the embrace of her vampire sister.

Jessica: Thank god you're here. They put me in a white room with racquetballs and they fuckin' shot me.

Tara: Me, too.

Jessica: Where are we?

Tara: We're in hell.

Jessica: I thought so.

Jessica was sighing and breathing erratically. She absently rubbed Tara's leg. Tara, confused, briefly looked down at Jessica's roving hand.

Jessica: Ohhh. She said I was goin' to hell. Steve Newlin's ex told me I was a demon whoooore.

Jessica whined this a little and sighed. Now she was rubbing Tara's leg more insistently, and Tara was more confused. Something was clearly wrong with Jessica, and it wasn't just the shock of being in prison.

Tara: What's wrong with you?

Jessica: I ate four fairy girls. I am so … fucked … up.

Tara looked around, making sure nobody heard what Jessica just said. Given where they were, it probably wouldn't be a good thing for someone to overhear Jessica's murder confession.

Tara: Jesus. Come on.

Tara led Jessica to a quieter, less populated corner of the GenPop holding area. She placed a gentle hand on Jessica's back and guided her to a bench. Jessica curled her legs up into a fetal position and rocked a little as she leaned into Tara. The red head reached for her friend's hand and clutched it.

Jessica: I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Tara: Yeah.

Tara looked worried and sympathetic for Jessica, but there wasn't much she could do but be a sounding board and a shoulder to lean on.

Jessica: Do you believe in the devil?

Tara: No. But my Mom sure did. She'd see the devil in everything. The devil's on the TV. In the rock and roll. And in your heart.

Jessica: What if I'm wrong? Bill's tryin' to save vampire kind, but what if we don't deserve to survive? What if we're just bad?

Tara: Don't be talkin' crazy.

Jessica: I didn't have to kill those fairy girls.

Tara: But that—

Jessica: No! Don't say that it was in my nature. Or that I couldn't help myself. I killed them because I wanted to. This hunger in me, it's never goin' away, is it?

Tara didn't like hearing Jessica talk this way. Dejection wasn't a good emotion to have in a place like this. Jessica needed to stay as positive as possible if she was going to survive and not lose her mind, or give up.

But the problem was, Tara wasn't the best person to talk Jessica down off the ledge, because in her heart _she_ believed a lot of what Jessica was saying. Tara's eyes caught a glimpse of red on the otherwise pristine floor. Blood. Warwick's blood. Warwick – Vampire Bitch 1, who met the True Death while fighting Tara.

Tara thought about the fight between her and those vamp bitches, and the other fight that broke out. She thought about vampires and nesting behavior. As Tara looked around the room, she thought of the future. It was grim.

To Jessica's question of whether her vampiric hunger was ever going away, all Tara could do was shake her head. _No._

**_# # # # #_**

The guards announced dinner. Even though Tara had fed off Troy's blood earlier, she was hungry and wasn't about to turn down food. She collected her little vial of blood from the dispenser and chugged it before she had barely turned around.

Jessica came behind Tara. She took a jug of blood from the dispenser, but she didn't really want it. She was still stuffed full of fairy blood, and what could taste better than that? Jessica also felt too guilty to eat. Maybe she deserved to starve, although she might feel differently when she was actually starving.

Tara felt Jessica's despondency. She turned around and gave the red head a look that said, "What's wrong?"

Jessica handed Tara the jug and quietly said, "I don't want mine."

As soon as Jessica said those words, she and Tara were swarmed by several hungry vampires. Jessica instinctively clung to Tara and hid behind her back. And just as instinctively, Tara held out a protective arm and bared her fangs at the imposing vamp bitches.

The brunette from the corner who had been eyeing Tara all evening stepped over and said, "Cool it."

Tara watched the brunette. She was admittedly a little intrigued by the older vampire's ability to disperse a crowd of bloodthirsty vampires with two words. The brunette walked over to Tara and Jessica, circling them slowly. Jessica averted her eyes, then carefully looked up, showing deference.

Tara matched the brunette's gaze full on. Pam's progeny kept her fangs bared.

Violet studied Jessica and asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Before Jessica could answer, Tara stepped up into Violet's frame of vision and answered for her. Jessica looked down, clearly afraid.

Tara looked straight into the brunette's eyes, clearly fearless, and said, "She's alright. Thanks."

The brunette's eyes focused on Tara, who was shorter than both her and Jessica. The older vampire smiled, then took another look at Jessica.

The brunette said, "I guess now you girls owe me." And then she walked away.

Tara retracted her fangs and said to Jessica, "Ugh. Fuck this place."

**_# # # # #_**

Is it bad that Tara wouldn't sugarcoat things or lie to Jessica, just to make her a little hopeful. _Absolutely not_.

Tara very much wanted to alleviate Jessica's angst, but not if it meant lying to her. After spending more than six months lying to Naomi and feeling the consequences of those lies, Tara wasn't interested in lying for any reason; at least not when it came to those she loved.

Jessica sat next to Tara, still freaked out about being in prison and the swarming, hungry vampires. She was rocking back and forth a little. Tara wanted to comfort the red head. She tried to think of something to say, but she wasn't about to lie to her. She loved her too much for that.

Tara wasn't about to say that the humans who ran this place wouldn't be doing god knows what to them. Tara believed they would. Tara wasn't going to say the vampires in GenPop weren't going to try some shit. That writing was on the wall, too. Tara wanted to tell Jessica that Bill would figure something out with all his new vampire god powers, but she didn't believe that, either.

Although Tara had given Bill Compton a bit of cordiality when she was first turned into a vampire, even to the point of advising him to quit worrying about Sookie, she still distrusted him. To Tara, Bill was a conniving opportunist. He presented himself one way, but behaved in quite another. _Southern gentlemen, my ass._

Tara couldn't think of anything to offer Jessica, except a strong shoulder to lean on. She had the truth, but none of it was good. And unfortunately, from now on, Tara Thornton dealt only in truths, even if they were hard:

_Truth: _They were trapped in vampire prison and bad shit was probably going to happen to them. Really bad shit.

_Truth: _The vampires in this hellhole had no rights. There was no law to protect them, and it didn't matter that they were imprisoned in a United States prison. The U.S. government cared only about _human rights_. Vampires weren't human.

_Truth: _Any vampire in this hellhole wasn't likely to get out alive. That included Tara, Jessica, Pam and Eric.

_Truth: _Tara was scared shitless and trying not to show it.

_Truth: _Tara couldn't afford to show her fear, because these vamps in GenPop were just as scary as her human captors.

_Truth: _If Tara and Jessica didn't get fucked up by the humans in this place, they were gonna get fucked up by the vampires. Either way, they were going to get fucked up. That was the common denominator.

_Truth: _Black swans happened. Bad black swans were catastrophes. Good black swans were miracles.

_Truth: _Tara and her vampire family were caught up in a catastrophic black swan event right now.

_Truth: _Tara and her vampire family desperately needed a miraculous black swan to swoop in. And fast.

_Truth: _The key to surviving a catastrophic black swan, or taking advantage of a miraculous black swan, was knowing such things existed, seeing them when they happened, and being ready to take advantage of the tiniest opportunity.

_Possible Truth: _According to maenad Maryann, Tara had the power to summon her. In other words, Tara had the power to bring on a catastrophic black swan.

_Possible Truth: _If Tara could summon catastrophe, maybe she could summon a miracle. Maybe she could bring forth a miraculous black swan.

Tara breathed and smiled a little. She had the answer. She was going to help Jessica, and herself, and she was going to be truthful in the process. She quietly took Jessica's hand, squeezed it and closed her eyes.

Jessica whispered, "Tara, what are you doing?"

Tara looked at Jessica and said, "I'm … prayin'."

Jessica looked a little amazed, like she was maybe looking at a black swan right in front of her. Tara smiled a little.

Jessica said, "I thought you didn't believe in God."

Tara thought for a moment, then mused, "I … don't, but I'm maybe gonna revisit that issue. I'm gonna try. I'm gonna try to believe, really believe."

Jessica looked, almost happy, hopeful. She asked, "Why?"

Tara replied, "Don't know, really. I just been thinkin' about things. I went to a whole lotta vacation Bible school growin' up, ya know."

Jessica just nodded and listened, squeezing Tara's hand.

Tara went on, "One of my favorite Bible stories was about the prodigal son. It always spoke to me, for some reason."

Jessica and Tara smiled, then laughed a little. They both knew why that particular story resonated with Tara Mae Thornton.

Tara breathed in and sighed, "I liked the idea that after spending all that time away from … God, the prodigal son, or in my case the prodigal daughter, could just … come home. No questions asked. And it was okay. And God … God doesn't curse or yell or judge. He, or she, just … rolls out the red carpet, throws this big ole' dinner with all the best things. It's like God's just so happy to have that son or daughter back, it's like their birthday or somethin'. And God's just givin' gifts."

Jessica mused, "I like that story, too."

Tara said, "So, I was thinkin' that if I looked for God, came home so to speak, it would be like that. I'd be the prodigal daughter and God would throw me a big birthday party, and give me some gifts. We could sure use a gift right about now, huh?"

Jessica agreed, "Yeah."

Tara said, "So, I'm gonna close my eyes, and look for God. Wanna come with me?"

Jessica smiled, squeezed Tara's hand, and closed her eyes. Tara closed her eyes, too. The baby vamp didn't know where to start looking for God, so in her mind she went to the one place where she had always felt the closest to heaven, even as an adult – Gran Stackhouse's house.

She imagined being in Sookie's back yard. The day was brilliant and sunny, like that day when she and Sookie lay in the grass, gazing up at the sky, drinking lemonade without a care in the world. Sookie wore yellow shorts, and Tara's skirt was purple, her favorite color. Tara had loved the color purple ever since Alice Walker and Sugg Avery told her and Miss Celie that "the color purple was God's way of showin' off."

**_# # # # #_**

_Tara, in her mind, stood barefoot in Sookie's back yard, twisting her toes in lush green grass. Her toenails were painted with purple nail polish. She looked up at the sky, and imagined herself floating toward that beautiful yellowish-orange ball of light. It was warm and glowing, and calling her. _

_Tara was a vampire, but she still loved the sun. And Tara figured that if she were God, and she/God really truly existed, then she/God would spend most of her time hangin' out somewhere near the sun._

**Next Chapter: **Pam Has Her First Therapy Session with Dr. "Perv" Vince

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

(1) One of the promo posters for Season 6 was Tara's checklist. One of the items on that checklist was "Control Humans." I was so excited when I saw this, because I thought the promo was signaling that we would see vampire Tara learning some self-control, and maybe some new skills. Wouldn't it be neat if vampire Tara was able to be calmer in certain situations where human Tara was never able to keep from going off? This would have been a wonderful opportunity to show Tara experiencing significant growth as a character. It hasn't been done yet, and probably won't. So I tried in this chapter to give Tara the opportunity to "control humans" as was promised in that promo checklist.

(2) I also used this chapter to answer some of my random unanswered questions. Here are some of those questions, in appropriately random order:

How did Tara meet Naomi and what was their relationship like? How did Tara and Naomi have their first kiss? What was it like when Tara and Naomi made love for the first time? Why does Pam keep Ginger around when on the surface of things she seems to annoy Pam so much? When did Tara learn to shoot a gun? Why did Tara smile a little when Pam threatened to "eat, fuck and kill" her, Lafayette and Jesus? Why did Tara stay in Bon Temps after the witch vampire war was over, when she clearly could have returned to New Orleans? Why did Tara strip, seemingly just for Pam, that night at Fangtasia? Who selected Tara's stripper outfit and why? Did Tara have a stripper name, and if she did, what would it be? When did Tara first come to think of Pam as a vampire Barbie? How did Ginger, who screams at the drop of a hat, manage to stay so still and calm when she and Tara executed the plan to kill Sheriff Stormer? How did things go from Pam saying "Fangtasia is my house and Tara just works" there to Tara saying, "No one fucks with us in _our_ house" and Pam agreeing with that sentiment? Why did that Disney music play when Pam and Tara shared their first kiss? Of course, it was all those feelings singing up and down their maker/progeny bond. Why were Tara's prison linen sleeves rolled up in Vamp Camp, and where did she get the idea to do that sexiness?

(3) During Season 1, when we are first introduced to Tara Thornton, she is sitting in a chair at her job at the Sav-A-Bunch. She is reading a book before she gets interrupted by the customer who didn't bother to call ahead to see if the store carried what she was looking for. The book Tara was reading was _The Shock Doctrine_ by Naomi Klein.

(4) In this chapter, Tara mentions another club with dancers "at the other end of Industrial Drive." We know Industrial Drive is the street that Fangtasia is located on because in Season 5 Pam gives Tara a Fangtasia T-Shirt to sleep in. That T-Shirt shows that Fangtasia is located at 444 Industrial Drive, Shreveport, Louisiana.


End file.
